Vox
by comrade1954
Summary: Gale is in shambles after the resistance. The war still haunts him as he lives in Three, training Soldiers. When he is assigned to mentor Vox, a mysterious Avox with Capitol blood, Gale must choose between chasing a ghost or learning to live again.
1. What Burns

** I am still working on this story. I hope you enjoy.**

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><p>(Gale P.O.V.)<p>

_I watch as the bomb explodes. Rubble erupts around me and fire leaps onto my clothing. Soot and dirt clog my eyes and screams erupt in the air around me. My vision burns and blurs. I am helpless as fire licks up Katniss' arm and side, too far away and too paralyzed with fear. Wetness coats my face and neck. With blinding pain, I drag myself across the square, scraping off my own seared flesh, making my way towards her. A girl next to me screams over a blackened body. Katniss is still too far away. My blood stains the dirt as I crawl__. A severed arm lies in front of me, I knock it aside, increasing speed. I hear her screams now. My eyes sear into the blackened skin which has taken her over. From nowhere, Peeta appears, collecting her in his arms. Through the chaos, I hear her scream one word over and over. Peeta rocks her and as the black flows over me, lulling me into emptiness, I make out the word which rips her apart. Katniss is screaming Prim's name._

I fall out of the darkness, fighting for air. The chaos threatens to choke me. Breath drags in as flames lick my lungs. For a moment I'm sure I will suffocate. Another moment passes before the shadows recede. I entangle my shaking hands in the blanket, pushing the memory away.

My best efforts alone will not banish this recall altogether. The dream is merely one of the many which plague my mind, no matter how hard I ache to forget them. Her screams seem to be etched into my memory, as if a Mockingjay lives there. In the daylight I'm able to repress them. I am not forced to think of the burns that now mar Katniss' skin or worse, Prim's smile. When the dark comes, I find there is no escape from the trappings of my own personal demons. A hell which is well-deserved on my part.

Not willing to wade further into the shadows, I find myself outside, running toward the wood. The fence of Old Three still lay in ruin- a reminder of how far and yet how little we've come. As I run, it is easy to imagine I am in 12, running my woods with a bow strapped to my back. I can picture my childhood home just beyond the next hill. I picture my mother standing outside it, smiling as Rory hangs upside down from the nearest tree.

The thought easily enough shatters what solice I may have found in the moment. I am not in 12. My mother no longer smiles so freely, nor does my brother laugh.

They do still live in the shack beside the hill, having returned after the resistance won. Old 12 is the only home they know and it is where my father's body lies. My mother could no more easily abandon him than one of us. Of course, my family is not alone; many other's also returned, for many of the same reasons my family did. Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch are among them. It is both her hate and my own self-loathing that kept me from joining them. I have ruined so many lives.

The words only fuel the memories. I run faster.

After the war- after Prim's death, I decided to stay a soldier along with many others. We were tasked with keeping peace among the more volatile Districts. After refusing to design weapons, I was sent to the District once known as Three, now named Grinda. Grinda is warmer than twelve, the game wilder and the terrain soiled with rock rather than soot and coal.

There are days I regret my decision to stay; the days I long to be held in my mother's arms or when I catch myself reaching behind me as game steps into my path. I remember how free I once felt in 12.

But most of my days, those when I am ripped apart by dreams and plagued by my own guilt, I am grateful for my choice. No one pretends I am anything other than a soldier in Grinda. My experience and skills have qualified me for top instructing positions. I train others how to fight and survive. I teach them how to feel free now that I no longer know how.

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><p>Back in my grey-walled room, the most recent of my mother's letters lays innocently on the nook. No doubt it is the reason for the aching within me. Her happy words of a wedding have left my insides raw, more damaged than the ugly burns which mar my left side and back. A knock, followed by the creak of my opening door relieve some of the storm. Ryder peeks his head inside. Ryder is one of the few friends I have retained in Grinda. He is arrogant, smiles-too-easily and incapable or uncaring of gageing my foul mood. This naiveness is partly why we've remained so close.<p>

"Up' and 'attem, you're late."

"I still have twenty minutes."

"No, you _had_ twenty minutes, twenty minutes ago." His smile showcases the scar I awarded him our first meeting. "Elder Banks has been yelling at his poor secretary for the past ten minutes to find you."

I suppress a sigh. "That man is an old coot. He said fifteen hundred."

Ryder coos, as I push past, "Give Banks my love!"

Banks' office is small, full of colored rocks and useless bobbles. I manage to suppress my scowl at one glass bird colored in resistance red. He sits across from me, made solidly of mass that was once muscle. His shock of brown hair is as greasy as his black mustache. The smell of spirits linger between us.

He begins to speak and I work to keep a blank expression. He stutters on about the newest Grind. This one will be a woman, near my age. Banks instructs me to her training personally. I have never before done private training, preferring to teach in group format. The surprise must show on my features.

He shifts. "She is important to the President."

It is an explanation that might soothe any other. President Paylor is the glue of the New Order. His image has overtaken what Katniss once was- the spark of hope. I can't fathom why some woman's training would interest him. However, I am not like any other- I have learned the importance of asking questions first the hard way.

"What importance is she?"

"She's a tool to keep peace with the capitols."

_A tool._ Naturally, Banks would find the word acceptable. His power of manipulation is perhaps how he has rose so highly at Grinda. The man loves to pull strings. I often find myself imagining him stuffed into a puppeteer suit, plucking at each of our strings.

"What does training a girl have to do with politics?"

"She needs to be strong, capable. We need the Districts to like her."

I scowl. Another manipulation. Pluck. Pluck.

"There's one more thing I shoul-" Elder Banks is interrupted by a knock on the door. Moyra, his slender aid, sticks her head into the room. Her face is lined with anxiousness. "She's here, sir."

Banks nods and we make our way out of the small office. Each room in Grinda's base is coordinated with a different color than the last. This is to keep things orderly and to give structure, a trait adopted from 13's philosphy. We pass yellow, blue and purple, before we come to the green section. Banks enters ahead of me, making a production of the introductions.

"Soldier Hawthorne. Meet your new Grind." He motions toward the girl across from him. She is average height, no older than me. Her lips are tightly mashed together, as if she's just tasted something bad. Tufts of short pale hair stand in disarray, framing her face. The white hair seems to clash with her thick dark eyebrows.

She nods once, drawing attention to a glint on her left ear. Three gold hoops lie there, the last holds a stone the color of blood. No other color stands out on her. Her clothes are the color of soot and fit poorly.

Something about her stance seems wrong. Her face is made of sharp plains in her face and pale skin. Some blue ink peeks out from the sleeve of her wrist. Her look and the color of the tattoo snap together an easy realization. She is Capitol Blood.

So much time has passed since Banks has introduced us, I fail to realize the girl has said nothing. Silence stretches, and I feel hesitant to break it. "What's your name?"

Her mouth twists but the girl makes no indication she has heard me. Elder Banks lifts a hand as if to intercept. "We call her Vox."

He says it with such smugness I'm not sure It's true. Her eye's shift toward him. I try again.

"Where are you from?"

I'm sure she is about to say the Capitol but still no sound escapes her lips. Again, Banks supplies the answer i'm looking for. This time the spirits on his breath, burns my eyes. I ignore the bafoon.

"What's your fighting experience?"

The white-haired girl continues to stare toward me. Her eyes tilt down over my body, as if she is trying to remember some great detail. Her mouth settles into a line. She says nothing. My patience begins to wear.

"Answer the question."

"No experience." The Elder chuckles. "Start her at a full Grind level."

Her eye's are stuck at some spot on my jacket. The way her lips pucker together make her look a petulant child. She disapproves of something she has seen on my lapel and stupidly, I wish to swipe at the spot, feeling like a small child under her gaze. Anger sears my blood.

This spoiled girl probably ate off silver and anticipated The Games each year. Those in the Capitol looked forward to the games above all, loving each drop of blood which was shed. I imagine this girl among them, sheathed in some ridiculous bright smock with feathered up hair. My mind watches as she petulantly calls for tribute's blood. This girl is nothing.

Now angry, I snarl. "Is the girl too _good_ to speak for herself?"

"She doesn't speak."

"Capitol brats are taught three languages." I admonish, somewhat bitterly. School was not a luxury many received in the outer Distritcs.

"Aye. And she probably knows more than three. Wont do much good, without a tongue. Vox here, is an Avox."

I stare stupidly, unable to process the words. An avox is are those who've were punished for rebelling before the resistance. It was a common practice and perhaps the most barbaric Capitol policies, second only to the Games. For a citizen's insolence, their tounges would be savagely cut out, rendering them speechless. Of course, this loss of words was only the physical aspect of the life of an Avox. The change in status required a severed connection with all former life. No citizen was to speak to an Avox unless giving an order. They merely became fixtures around us, individuals who had once used their voice unwisely, and now have no voice to give.

This girl is an Avox. _Vox._ It now made sense.

Capitol-born citizens are rarley the normal build for an Avox. In fact, I have never before heard of a capitol-born Avox. Capitol brats weren't known for their insolence or bravery. Loud looks and teenage debauchery were more their token. I look again at the girl. Her mashed lips have now formed some grimace-scowl.

"I see."

A slim cuff hangs around her left wrist. The band, like a communicator cuff, was created for convenience. Unlike Com cuffs, this band shines like the hoops in her ear. Small speakers line one side, distinguishing it.

Despite, the technology, she is silent. _Is it faulty?_ I motion toward it. "What's wrong with her VCuff?"

"She refuses to use it." Banks supplies.

The cuff was created after the Resistance to mollify the Avox who sacrificed for the cause. It was built to detect vocal chord vibrations through an implanted chip. The signals pass down to the cuff and transform into words, spoken from a recorded voice.

"Who is she Banks."

"She's a daughter of the Capitol, as I'm sure you've surmised," he says vaguely. "And she is important to us."

Her lips pucker.

He leaves and the smell of spirits wafts slowly away as we stare at each other.

Sick of her silence, I bark out. "If you want to learn, you'll have to use the cuff. I wont be a mind bender."

She shrugs and I am convinced she is a true capitol brat. I step closer. "Use. Your. Cuff."

The girl stiffens as her eyes drop. A mechanical chime erupts from the speaker near her wrist. The words sounds wrong to my ears and I can't help but wonder if the program was designed to do so.

"Fine," it says.

I am satisfied. "What," I ask, thinking of Bank's ill humor, "would you like to be called?"

She meets my eyes and I notice for the first time, hers are quite large. They are the same brown as the forest floor back home. "Vox," the alien voice answers. I cannot fathom why she sticks to the name, but I say nothing.

"Fine. We'll start with endurance. Running is what saves lives. Its probably the hardest thing we do. It takes courage to run." I fight away memories of the past- the heat from the hospital on my back, the rocks digging into my boots. My stomach flips.

"Go change out of those clothes."

As she leaves, some image pops into my head of a girl. I fight it back and find I am unable to. It is in some other time, in some other place. The pale blonde walks ahead of me, framed by glass buildings and people dressed in color. It is in this memory, I watch as the fire burns her to nothing.


	2. What Sees

(Vox P.O.V.)

The words _Capitol Brat_ stick in my mind like sludge. They turn over in my head and taste thick in my mouth. I am both angry and indifferent about them. They seem nothing furthest from the truth after the last few years.

My father's last words whisper through my mind, "Be brave, Viva." I am brave; I am brave the moment I watch him die, the moment I fall in love, when I am punished. I am even brave when I am herded into a camp, held there like cattle for two years.

I suppose the words were meant to reassure me or perhaps to mollify himself in death, To me, they seem to be the coldest thing he has ever said. I loved so many things about my father and yet, every day I do not remember my affection, but rather his necessity for courage.

Perhaps if it had been my mother on her deathbed, the words would have been more soothing. If only she had not been paid by Cori to go away.

The thoughts are more of many which are unwelcome, so I push them away, instead, opting to focus on what Elder Banks and the dark boy are saying.

I have known Banks for some time. It is hard to forget the moment he stumbled into camp and slurred out what my future would be. He had been terrifying ti me then, standing at least twice my size. Over the next few visits, I had begun to see him for what he was, a lying old copper who drank spirits as if it were water. Others in the camp called him Banks the Blitzed. He sways as he introduces me to the dark boy and I can't help but agree with the nick name.

The boy in black is named Hawthorne.

His eyes burn over my hair, the hoops in my ear and finally come to rest at the pale clothes which hang awkwardly over my frame. I manage not to pick at them under his gaze. The starch fabric rubs against my skin and I wish for the leathers and silks I once wore.

The dark boy, _Hawthorne_, my mind supplies, is not quite a boy. He is older than me and yet, something about his face isn't old enough. His eyes are grey, alike the color of wet rock near the beach. He doesn't smile. Neither do I. We stare toward each other, measuring and picking apart. His black head of hair stands at least five inches above my own. His cobalt shirt is wrinkled severely. The dark boy has either been sleeping recently or he's lazy. An image of Seta whispers into my mind, teasing about tracing a finger down the vein outlining his neck. I scowl as the ridiculous thought and the unaccompaning sharp pain of despair.

He continues to stare and a small red smudge on the inside of his neck appears to me. The smudge has a lick of purple within it. It is a mark which had once marred the skin of countless Capitol boys. It is a love bite. I file away the fact that Dark boy has a lover.

I also note his name. _Hawthorne_. The way Blitzed pronounces it tells me Hawthorne isn't native to the Capitol, nor the inner Old Districts. But then again, being a Rebel, it is unlikely he would be. His skin holds a much darker tone than my own. Calluses and deep scarring line his hands; suggesting hard labor. I had seen such hands on a wrinkled man from Old Eleven, once. I push away the sounds of that man's screams as he died.

Banks the Blitzed says something and the stirring of uneasiness returns in my gut. I have been anxious for this day since his first visit, battling with myself to hold onto some hope. It had taken two failed escape attempts before I had finally accepted this fate and yet, standing here before the Dark boy and Banks, a small part of me wants to fall into hysterics. I am not brave. I cannot train. I should have been strong enough to take my own life.

Hawthorne is still demanding speech and Blitzed is standing beside us, looking extremely pleased. I am a pawn in this game.

Twice I catch myself wanting to answer him- wanting to raise my own voice to match his in anger. It is times such as these; the loss of speech nearly drives me insane. I fight back the panic of feeling trapped within myself.

Banks ambles away, taking the smell of white liquor with him. Alone with the dark boy, I try to feel brave, but I just feel small. I detest using the Vcuff but Hawthorne's face is turning redder with each command. His eyes darken as he steps closer. In another time, another place, a boy with emerald eyes smiles down at me, just as close. I ignore the pain and mollify Hawthorne.

The words form in my mind, vibrating through my throat. I ignore the spark of hope that dies in my chest as the chime and not my voice fills the air. The tone is metallic and cold. It is meant to aid and though it can sometimes be helpful, I cannot stand the alien voice expressing my thoughts.

As he dismisses me, I file away everything I've leanred about Hawthorne. His quick anger, the shrug at my name, his shiver while speaking of running. Cori's voice whispers back to me, "_Knowledge is power, dear._" I will be powerful. I am brave. Paylor insists I am the key to peace. He says that I will be essential in bringing lasting peace. But Paylor does not know me. I am just a girl. I do not want this. In all the moments leading up to this I have focused on survival, in escape and finally in acceptance. I have been so busy being brave and mollifying myself into compliance that I have barley gave thought to the most terrifying thought of all; _I don't want to marry a stranger._

* * *

><p>I manage to rein in my hysterics by the time I meet Hawthorne outside. He stands on a small path of grass nestled inside a bedew of rocks. The sun glares down on my pale skin as Hawthorne begins to instruct me how to properly stretch, bending himself in half. I mimic the action, ignoring my muscles' protest.<p>

I study him from the corner of my eye. His muscles ripple beneath his clothing. _Strong_, I decide. He bends into a complicated crouch, twisting himself in half. _And_, _agile_.

While in the crouch, his sleeve tips up and I spot a small tattoo on his bicep. The symbol is of a Mockingjay and it is as if cold water has been poured throughout my body. This boy is a rebel. The fingertips he digs into the earth now, to steady himself, have taken the lives of others. I imagine My father at the end of his fingertips. Hawthorne catches me staring, his eyes meet mine and narrow.

He stands sharply, his face a mixture of storm and calm. "We'll start slow," he says. "Try to keep up."

We break into a run, making our way down a somewhat beaten path. As we jog, my legs are awkward beneath me. Twice, I stumble trying to keep his pace. It is not until ten minutes in, that my breath becomes louder and a small pressure forms in my chest. I ignore it, continuing to run.

A glance at Hawthorne shows he's ran this route before. He runs closer to the rotted fence than I do. And as the wind whips through his hair, some spark of happiness transforms his face. He looks _free_, I decide. Hawthorne looks like he belongs within the forest that lay on the other side of the boundary.

His long legs navigate the terrain much better than mine. He seems to glide over the land with no trouble. Effortlessly, he manages to duck a tree that sticks through the fence without breaking a stride. Animals from the forest beyond chirp and call out to us as we pass by. For a moment, I wish I could answer them.

The pressure in my chest turns to an ache. Soon, my breathing escapes in ragged drags. We both ignore the sound.

A figure takes form in the distance, the shape of a man in uniform. As the ache turns into a terrible burn, I decide it is as far as I can last. I convince myself that if I can only make it to the man, It will be good enough. I push my legs faster, closing my eyes and ignoring my impending death. My legs are on fire, I am gasping for air but my lungs seem to have stopped working. Just as I am about to keel over, I feel Hawthorne slow beside me. We have reached the man. I falter to a stops and my body bends in half, fighting for air. My lungs burn as I pull in the sweet air. I fight the urge to collapse to the ground.

When I am sure, I will not faint, I stand, listening to the exchange beside me. "-identity," the man demands. Two slug-guns hang in holsters near his waist. His grey uniform is missing a button and his left boot-lace is coming untied.

"Hawthorne, G." He supplies with a swipe of his cuff. I wonder what the G is for as the soldier reads the scan. Systematically, I run through a list of known outer-district masculine G names. My mind moves through the catalogue I once studied in school, discarding those from the inner-districts. I remember Garrick and Gabriel as the most common among the outers, and then chide myself for becoming so easily distracted.

"-her?" I watch as the soldier's eyes rake my body. The reaction tells me word of the Avox has not spread, yet. He'd hardly leer if he knew what horrors lay behind this mirror. I note, quite repulsed, the breadcrumbs on his beard and his missing finger which puckers up angrily at it's nub.

Both men look toward me expectantly. I am unsure and quite indifferent to using the cuff to ask what they want. Hawthorne sighs.

"She's a Grind," He pulls my wrist toward the scanner. After a moment, a green light accompanies a click and the soldier's eyes turn back toward me.

"State your name."

I say nothing. Hawthorne scowls, highlighting a scar above his lip."Her name is Vox. She's with me."

Something is exchanged between the men and I'm sure a spark of fear or respect sounds in the soldier's eyes. He smiles, but it does nothing to make his face pleasant. "New, huh?"

It wasn't a question. I don't nod.

"Welcome to Grinda, if you need anyone to show you around, I'm Helix."

I attribute the name to a cold smile, breadcrumbs and laziness.

"She wont." Hawthorne answers. "Dismissed, Helix."

The man frowns before ambling further past us, _still guarding the border_, I realize. No way to escape, then.

Hawthorne turns. "Are you trying to be difficult? You're going to get harassed if you refuse to answer the basic identity checks."

I shrug, causing his scowl to turn deeper, lines form beside his eyes and the vain on his neck resurfaces.

"You're not going to make many friends with that silence."

Hawthorne is again standing too close and pulling himself up to seem taller. His shoulders are rigid and his eyes hold a direct message, he is challenging or more accurately, demanding I use the slim metal cuff again. Hawthorne would make a terrible liar, I decide. His emotions play across his face like a projector screen. This will become a game between us, I am sure. Cori used to play these same games with me. I ignore the bite of embarassment. I am brave.

I visualize what I will say, then try to say it, as if my voice would come through along with the emotion and tone I wish to convey. For a second, I can even imagine the same soft words will flow from my lips, tinged with a hint of laughter. The joy I feel at the small hope is indescribable, but instead, a metal life-less chime erupts from my wrist.

It feels like loosing my voice all over again.

"That is fine," it chirps, "I am not here for friends."

He shrugs. "I was talking more about making enemies."

I want to laugh. I want to hurt him. I want my father or Seta to tell me it will okay. I want to any other place in the world. Instead, I am alone, speechless and hopeless, forced into fighting for my life. In mere months, I will be sold like a whore to the most eligible Rebel leader.

The words form in my mind, and all over again, a small hope erupts that my voice will flow from my lips. But as each time, it does not and I fight the anger of feeling so trapped.

"That," the chime agrees, "Is inevitable."


	3. What Grinds

_(Vox P.O.V.)_

Beads of sweat stick to my skin and my muscles spasm as I navigate through the steel halls. Some of the hallways are painted in coordinating colors, but I am unsure what significance they have. My room is in a green corridor past a red hallway. Earlier, Blitzed managed to navigate the halls as well as I do now, getting us turned around and mumbling something about the color eggplant. Now, it takes me three dead-ends and two-wrong directions before I finally come to a door with a circle and flame inscribed in Green.

Inside, seven bodies cram inbetween the five rows of beds. It smells of sweat and metal. Two girls stand near a bed across from mine. Another pair sit in the corner, heads bent together. The final group stand over my trunk. The girl above my property says something loudly about it's color. The two boys near her chuckle. No one notices as I slip into the room. I've become better than I realized as mastering silence.

"I guess this means a new Grind," The girl says, "I hear Hawthrone's training her." She flips open it's lid and fingers a scarf Seta gave me.

If the girl was any less solid I may have ripped the material from her hand. She stands inches taller than me and still seems to take up twice as much space. Her hair, which is plastered back in a knot, only adds to her harshness. I notice a tint of red within it, something uncommon outside of Old Five.

The boy to her left lays a long-fingered hand on her shoulder. "She must be pretty important for him to train her." His hair is gold, cropped and tinged with mud. As he speaks, his body moves closer toward the girl. His hips tilt slightly and his muscles tense.

The other boy merely snorts, which sounds foreign from such an imposing face. He stands three heads taller and three people wider than anyone else in the room. A tattoo of some kind of eagle claws it's way up his neck.

"What, Tank? You think Hawthorne's a _puppy_ or something?"

The large boy, _Tank_, lifts his shoulders toward the harsh girl. She girl digs deeper in my possessions and a flame of anger lights through my blood. I let my feet shuffle, drawing attention. Seven sets of eyes turn to study me. The gazes feel hot and unwelcome on my skin. Out of habit, my lips mash, as if I can hold back my silence.

The girl, drops the scarf, starting toward me. "You're the new Grind, then. I'm Cair." she nods toward the boys beside her, "that's Jorr and Tank." The others around the room introduce themselves as Rita, Jace, Kane and Harrison. I nod but return nothing, starting the process of unlacing my boots.

A moment passes before someone clears their throat. Cair, Jorr, Tank are the only ones in the room now. I am thankful for the decline in bodies as some of the smells leaves the room. I've never been a master of crowds like Seta. The remaining three look toward me, expectantly.

"What's your name, then?" Cair asks.

I ignore her, pulling off the boot and beginning to unlace the second. The silence stretches on until one of them moves closer. Tank towers over me, staring intently into my face as if some answer were written there. I force myself to loosen my lips, hoping he finds nothing.

"Do you speak?" he asks with pity. I loosen my scowl further, working as keeping my face relaxed.

His eyes are blue and impossibly light. He has found his answer and I don't care much to keep this harassment going. I lift my chin, shaking my head. _No, I cannot speak._ Let them run from the room. I am too tired to care for anyone's approval. _  
><em>

Cair and Tank catch on, both starring at my mouth with wide eyes. Jorr keeps less of his composure. "She's an _Avox!_"

The girl scowls. "Yes, you dolt. And she's mute not deaf."

He winces. "Sorry. I've never met one."

Cair sighs, "And she's never met more of a blubbering idiot, have you doll?"

Something tight in my stomach looses. I feel my lips tilt upward slightly as Cair and Tank smile toward me. Something stirrs inside me and I realize the feeling is loneliness. I have not had such kindness in ages. Perhaps Hawthorne was right. Allies would be helpful in a place like this.

"Why don't you use the Vcuff?"

I shrug, not caring how she interprets the gesture.

"She doesn't like it, " Tank supplies. One of his eyes is darker than the other. "I've heard them before," he admits, "they aren't pleasant."

Cair, Tank and Jorr share a look and after a moment, the girl shrugs. "Good enough for me, " she smiles, "Welcome to the Grinders, best threesome, now foursome in Grinda."

The boys both snort. "We don't actually call ourselves that."

Cair waves a finger at him. "You're just mad you didn't think of it." She turns, "So. I suppose we'll at least need to know your name." Inwardly, I sigh and try not to cringe as the chime erupts from my wrist. My wish to speak it myself, settles like fire in my stomach. Each of them fights a wince as the noise fills the empty room.

"Vox," it says.

"Well, Vox," Cair smiles, "Welcome to Grinda."


	4. What Survives

(Vox P.O.V.)

The days pass and we run; and run and run. Sometimes I wonder If my lungs with collapse or if my legs will detach from my body. Often, my muscles ache and swell, but still, the next day, we run.

Since that first morning, Hawthorne and I have started a routine. In the morning, before the sun slips above the horizon we meet next to the dilapidated fence. We start by stretching and settle into a silent uncomfortable run. Occasionally, he will stop and rest as some varried spot on the trail. Even while we are stopped, gaining our breath in the dark, the silence continues. After the morning session, I shower, eat with Cair, Jorr & Tank, Go to weapons class with the other Grinds, watch old resistance films in war strategy. In the afternoon, Hawthorne teaches me different styles of running and the the terrain which is best for each. His instructions tend to be limited to one or two words. I am fine with our un-official silence. I prefer it to using the Vcuff.

Aside from that first morning, perimeter checks rarely happen. Though, Helix's disgusting attempts at flirtation have not ceased. Neither, it seems, has the information I'v found out.

With Hawthorne, I find something new daily. He often wears emotions like a noose around his neck. Its a curious trait for someone deemed a Rebel Leader. I suppose Hawthorne's lover, who I've found is a female, must find it endearing. The lover often leaves some type of physical claim on his body. Scratches and lovebites seem to be the most popular ammo. His friend Ryder, is often teasing him about them as I come upon them in the mornings. Hawthorne is a skilled fighter and was born 3 years before me. His family lives far away. By his chiding tone as he answered Leader Maxon's question one day about his cousin, I figure he prefers the distance.

With every sliver of information which I discover about the dark boy, I still feel like something is missing. Perhaps something is just missing from him, though. Hawthorne doesn't smile, or joke or seem light like whatsoever. In fact, he seems haunted. Shadows play across his face and often, I see the marks from lack of sleep. I'm sure if only I could figure this part of him out, I may be able to use it against him. I wonder if it is something serious enough that I could bribe him for my freedom.

The thought returns me to the present, and I realize our current pace has slowed. He glances toward me and extends his arms as if to say, _This is it._ I look around, not sure what _it_ is.

We stand in a field of overgrown grass and flowers. The grass brushes the tops of my knuckles and engulfs my legs. It's beauty is startling and I'm not sure why he's lead me here. He nods and sits on a shorter patch of grass, next to a cropping of rocks. We sit in silence as Hawthorne leans back, turning his face toward the sun. The shadows recede, making him truly look young. The light licks his face like an old friend, and once again I'm struck by how right he looks as a part of nature.

Hesitantly, I sit, wondering if this is some kind of test. Perhaps attackers will jump out of the overgrown grass. The way it sways, however, tells me it is not weighed down by human hands. I relax into the spot and begin to breathe the fresh air.

Hawthorne breaks his silence after a moment. "Do you like it here?"

I start at the sound, forgetting he even had the ability, let alone the desire to speak in my presence. I think of his question, not sure if he means this field or Ginda. I shrug.

Curiosity licks his features, "where do you like it?"

I don't hate Hawthorne. We've barely speak and there are moments, when my legs burn and my breath comes in shaky drags that I would like him to disappear. Mostly, I feel confused toward him. Him and his leaders are prepping & trading me like I am a sack of flour. It doesn't sit well that he values my life so little. Of course, this coldness often lays way to a softer side. Once, I saw him rubbing the belly of a stray dog. Thereafter, my image of him as a Rebel-monster simply melted away.

His question digs into me. Thoughts of cold blue eyes and tufts of white hair come to mind but I quickly push that away. Next, lingers a tanned body wrapped in an expensive suit, a bright smile. I reach out toward the gold hoop in my ear, missing the feel of his skin.

The answer escapes my lips and vibrates out my arm before I realize what I've done. "Home," it says.

He frowns and I watch his own eyes go far away. He's thinking of his own, I'm sure. A moment passes. "Is it still standing?"

A shudder works through me as I imagine a rubble & corpse-filled Capitol. Last time I saw itthe city lay in ruins thanks to the Rebel's advanced bombings. I can still feel the ghost of my father's hand slip out of my own as the fire burns around us. The home he's asking of still stands, but the structure is not the place I spoke of.

I shake my head no.

"I know what that's like," he admits in a moment of clarity, "to loose everything."

His eyes churn with some unspoken black-emotion. _He is just as broken, _my mind decides.

Before, I can even find the mind to ask what he's lost, Hawthorne tips his face back toward the sun, erasing the moment. His vulnerability is new, foreign and in the same spirit, I show some of my own.

"Do you know who I'll marry?" I finger a frayed edge of the Grind suit I wear, ignoring the rapid pounding of my heart.

He startles, recovering some of the shadows. "What?"

"Do not be so ignorant. What did you think this was about?" I motion between us as if the word, "unwilling bride," stirs there in the air.

His brow is furrowed and his eyes search for some piece of information. I watch a black scrap of hair fall over the scar above his eye.

"they're training you for marriage?"

I nod, not sure if he is acting innocent for saving some face. Of course, there is no reason for him to save face in front of some lowly Avox. I decide he's being truthful as the confusion in his eyes appears genuine.

"That doesn't make sense. Why waste my time?"

I cant hold back my glare as a spike of anger colors inside me. He sighs. "Don't fret, I'm sure he'll be to your liking."

I snort, highly doubting so. My heart beats faster. If he doesn't know who I'll marry, who would? Banks, I suppossed. I could always pry it out of him with enough white liquor.

"-don't want to marry?"

I come back to myself. Hawthorne is starring at me. Does he honestly believe I would? I have been ripped from everything I know. Thrown into some training that I'm told I either complete or die. Nothing about this has been pleasant. Even the three friends I've made, the highlight in this darkness, notice how black my moods grow with each passing day. I shake my head, not caring how rude I seem as I glare, scowling.

"But, why would you agree to it, then?"

How niave is this dark boy? Despite Hawthorne's insistence otherwise, he reads the direction of my thoughts. His smokey eyes darken and narrow.

"You didn't agree," Hawthorne declares, "Why would Paylor do that?" he asks it so quietly I'm not sure he's speaking to me. "You're capitol blood, which satisfies the holdouts and you're and Avox, which shows your sacrifice for the Rebel-"

Hope dies in my chest and the metal chime answers him instead of my own voice. My stomach turns. "I was loyal to the Capitol." I am not a rebel. Of course, I do not tell Hawthorne the sacrifice I made was for one rebel in particular. Especially, as I watch his eyes grow angry and a muslce in his jaw clenched. The vein pops out across his neck. We study each other, his fire and my coolness. The grey color of his eyes seem wrong again his tanned skin, his hair is disarrayed from running and the shadows from his face return, as if colored on with soot.

"Then you deserve penance. The capitol killed and oppressed thousands."

He's angry and his anger fuels some little spark left inside me. .I cannot even speak what little resistance I have left. The alien voice does so for me, and the effect isn't the same as I wished.

"And what has the resistance done." it whines, "What murder you done!"

A muscle plays in his jaw and something in my mind notes it. I am too angry to analyze the stands sharply, brushing away invisible dirt. "We've done what we had to, in order to survive."

I lift my chin, ignoring the injustice of my life, ignoring the pain I feel at a lost voice, at a broken heart, at the mourning of my family. I think of every slur I wish to yell at Hawthorne, at the resistance. A part of me wishes I had the strength to kill them, to rip apart their lives as they have done to me. But the silence in my life does not permit me to do so. I will train and wait and observe, and in the end, I will survive. I will be brave.

I stand, staring deeply in the dark boy's face. The power he holds over my future seems unfair. Based on my progress I will be granted marriage or death.

I nod, "And so will I."

* * *

><p><strong>What do you think?<strong>


	5. What Hears

(Gale P.O.V.)

(three weeks later)

_The forest calls to me as silence descends. I watch helplessly as the boy and girl are separated, he reaches out, trying as hard as possible to touch her, but the arrow pierces his heart and blood colors the forest floor._

_The sound she makes isn't quit vocal, but the desperation is clear. She fights as the net drops from the craft and tangles around her limbs. My entire body vibrates to move toward her, to help her. But I don't. Instead, I watch as the hovercraft picks her up and tows her away. The last sight I see are her hands, reaching out toward the boy's broken body._

Air slams into my lungs and I fight to breathe. The world reconnects with itself and I realize it was a dream, _a memory_. The sweat sticks my shirt to my skin and the air leaves my lungs in jagged breath. I stand and begin to pace, fighting back the memories of twelve, of _her_.

Panic threatens to overtake me and I can feel myself slipping into the darkness. The only thought I can form is of _her_, and so I do what I always do in these fits of panic.

The halls are empty as I brisk through them, towards the red sector. The vents cool the sweat down my neck. My muscles are tight from the running, and protest at the pace I set. Part of me, already knows where I'm headed. Another, refuses to admit I've become this dependent. The Gale I was would be disgusted with who I've become. _Katniss would be disgust_- I cut the thought off before it forms, pushing myself faster through the open air.

Up ahead, I see a figure and just as I'm about to find another direction, the figure glances toward me and I realize it's my target.

Johanna stands there, dark hair and green eyes smiling toward me and the panic starts to ebb. Sexual awareness slams into my gut, stabs my past resolve and I walk faster. When I'm close enough she spots me, raising a slender arm in greeting, "Hello, _Cousin_," she cooes.

I scowl, hating that it's become a name of my own. _Cousin_-A constant reminder of what I've done, of what I've lost. The panic threatens to return if I don't act. I ignore the protest in my mind and pull Joahanna toward me. I claim her mouth and pull her body flush against mine. She acquiesces the demand, pressing back and humming in the back of her throat.

If not for the footsteps, I might have lost all control. As it is, the thumps and laughter echo down the steel hall, clearing the haze momentarily. Breaking apart, we duck around a corner into a dead-end. Our hearts and jagged breathing fill the hallway and Johanna looses no time. Her lips find my neck, greedily.

Focusing on the surroundings, I realize the Blue stripe coloring the wall, means we're near the Grinds dorms. As the voice grows near, I'm sure it's one of them.

"I thought you said you weren't coming back," Johanna teases, arrogantly.

I hush her, listening to the voices.

"-the spirits are terrible there, but it's where everyone goes after hours."

Nothing is said in return, and yet, the girls next words seem to be an answer.

"_Technically_, it's not forbidden for Grinds, just frowned upon."

I hear a snort, and I'm slightly worried the Grind is talking to herself. I want to creep around the corner, but the angle their voices echo suggest they are facing our direction.

"As long as you keep it in your pants, V, you wont be breaking any rules."

Johanna's tongue and fingers are teasing different part of my flesh as the figures pass our spot. I push her back, and peek around the corner, ignoring her pout.

Thankfully, there are two girls. Their backs are toward us and I realize the second Grind is Vox. Her shock of white hair sticks in multiple directions. I don't recognize the girl next to her, even after she stops, turning her profile toward me.

"I'm serious. They have this big no fraternization rule, here."

Johanna rubs her hips against mine. "They sure do," she chuckles. I ignore her.

"It's like they want us all to be sex-crazed freaks," the girl whines.

I watch her smile at Vox, whose face seems less guarded than it usually is with me. The observation catches me off guard.

"Too bad, though." The Grind smiles impishly, "_especially_ for you. If I had to watch Hawthorne get sweaty for the past three weeks I'd be as horny as a unicorn."

I ignore the comment, Watching as Vox raises her dark eyebrows. She looks horrified at the idea, which ruffles my pride.

"What do you mean, _No_!" the girl admonishes, "that man is Resistance eye-candy."

Joahnana snickers.

Vox shrugs, and I'm amazed that the Grind seems to find the action telling, "oh, I see. You have your eye on someone else."

From where I stand, Vox does nothing but absently reach toward one of the gold hoops in her ear, something she does often. Her friend, however, sees something differently. Her face lights up. "Aha! I knew it! Is he as good looking as Hawthorne?"

Vox begins to walk further down the hall, but the second Grind's bark of laughter can be heard even with her back turned to us, " So he's better looking, huh? _Dam_," she admits, "I really need to visit the Capitol."


	6. What Spars

Days have ebbed and bled together. Moons have passed and hung in the sky, calling out to me, asking me to run into the night, to dance like I once did with Seta and the others.

But I do not answer it. Instead, I sleep and run and attend class. I spend most of my time with Cair, Tank and Jorr , due to Cair's canny ability to carry out an entire conversation alone. As the second month of my training begins, I become restless with running. Each morning and afternoon, I dread the action. Thankfully, my body has become stronger, able to run for long periods of time. Ropey muscle has taken root in my legs and the bones in my hips have begun to protrude. Today, the wind is colder, lashing against my face like a whip. Hawthorne and I glide next to each other, matching strides and altogether pretending we are alone.

Some days I revel in the silence, enjoying the sound of my feet pounding the dirt. Other days, I become angry at Hawthorne's speechless behavior and then angry at myself for caring. Of course, Ignoring him makes it increasingly difficult to learn new information about him. His emotions still churn across his face like a storm and yet, I have found nothing solid to enough to guarantee my freedom. It's during these realizations that I often argue within myself. I begin to send the impulses down to the bracelet, to form the words and end this show off. Before the words can fully form, I always stop, unwilling to be the first to speak.

Of course, techniqually Hawthorne had already spoken, if one counts barking out orders. Besides the occaisional, _"KEEP UP,"_ It has been weeks since we have exchanged any words of significance.

The wind picks up and we slow to a stop beneath a large oak. We spend the next few minutes de-thawing our faces and catching in our breath. I stay on the balls of my feet, ready for Hawthorne to explode away from the tree. Most days, when we stop for rest, Hawthorne takes off without a word. The time varies each day and I find myself never enjoying these breaks. Hawthorne is not so easily to catch up with.

I glance toward him, for the first time today and am struck by how different he looks. He holds his strong body to the side, lost in some thoughts. His face is softer and his hair is at least two inches shorter. It stands up in disarray and I find my eyes lingering at the tips which waft in the wind. I imagine my fingers reaching over and fluffing the tuffs of haring and realize how ridiculous I am being. I feel his eyes on my face and I instruct my body to be ready to take off again. Hawthorne does not move. In a rare moment, he gives a small smile and my defenses go up.

"You ready?" he asks and the question seems so absurd that the word forms and signals down to my wrist before I can stop it.

"No."

He frowns, clearly confused by statement.

The confusion is not only his. I am warmer, my face no longer stings and my muscles ache in anticipation to run again and yet, the word plagues my mind. I am sure that I'm not ready. I do not want to run. I work it out, like a problem in one of the books I've read. At first, I'm sure it's about the run, about my hesitance to gain speed, the wind tearing apart my face, or the slight ache in my left ankle, but then I think of Hawthorne's words and realize what I meant.

I am not ready for this. The thought sends panic to my stomach, twists it's way around my heart and gives a sharp squeeze. My body vibrates with the need to flee. I am not ready to feel the way I always do when Hawthorne takes off into a run and I catch up, noticing the admiration in his eye as I match his strides or the pride I feel when he gives me that sharp nod at the end of every run. I realize that I have begun to respect this dark boy. I have been foolish- actually going out of my way to seek his approval.

My refusal to speak, my admiration of his running, his easy-grace which I have found myself emulating these past months. I am a fool. The petulant silence between us was the only barrier keeping me from seeing it. I have grown fond of Hawthorne.

"-stening to me?" I shake myself of the panic and focus on him. He is scowling, but his dam grey eyes are softer than usual.

"Had you're fill today, huh?" There is a glint in his eye. Hawthorne is teasing me.

I ignore the flitter of like-ability I get from this change in him and decide to be honest. "Will this running ever stop?"

He smiles but it is not the same as the one's he's given me in the past. The lines of his face look hard and I spot a red bruise on his neck. It's another love bite, I'm sure.

He shrugs, contorting the mark on his neck. "Sure. We can learn defensive strategies. The first, you already know, run. The next is what you do in a physical confrontation."

He waives me over, standing before me beneath the oak. "The most important thing about a fight is using your advantage. If you're small, you can move around easily, if you're large, you cant put weight behind your hits. Got it?"

I nod, soaking up each piece of information as if it were text in a book. Hawthorne's eyes scan over my body, looking for my advantage and I try not to bend at his gaze.

"Your fairly small," he finally decided. "It will be important for you to put all of your body behind your hits and to move around a lot in order to avoid being struck."

The idea of flesh hitting flesh makes me want to cringe, but I push aside the fear and oncoming embarrassment as I predict how horribly I am about to be in front of him. I shake it away. Hawthorne is not my friend. I am a fool.

"Running has made you light, so you should be able to duck, roll and tuck quickly." He nods, making each of the movements. My body follows his and I nearly stumble in my tuck.

Hawthorne straightens, not noticing my clumsiness. "Okay, let's see you're fight stance."

I attempt to stand lightly, holding my fists near my face as I've seen the boys in the rings do. My mind supplies the exact angle their knees bend at and my own knobby knees attempt the gesture.

"Okay," he admits, "you look ridiculous."

I turn to find him smiling, a genuine one this time. The act seems to transform Hawthorne's face as the shadows recede. He comes toward me chuckling, and a lightness fills me. F_ool_, I scold myself. He grabbing my shoulders, lifts and my knees unbend slightly. Then, Hawthorne picks up my arms, drawing them further out. Finally, his hands slide into my own, opening the tight fist I formed. I ignore the feeling of callous against my skin. He slips my thumbs out over my curled fingers and remakes my fist, looser than before.

It takes me a moment, to realize how close he has become to me. His hands stay in my own for a moment and I watch as his gaze searches mine. In another life, I would tease him about his proximity. Perhaps even now, knowing I have begun to consider this dark boy I friend. Instead, I activley ignore the slight waive of his hair and the blackness of his lashes. It has been years since I've been this close to a boy.

His hands leave mine, going up toward my shoulders. I am stunned as his fingers trace a path across my collarbone. Where he touches leaves a trail of fire and I'm horrified that I may be fonder of this boy than I thought. The sentiment ends the moment he shoves me away, sharply. I land on my backside, and a pain shoots up my waist.

Stunned, I stare up at a scowl on Hawthorne's face. "Rule number one; Balance matters."

My lips mash together, trying to hold back the insults I wish I could throw at him. Instead, I glare, something I've become increasingly prone to do around this boy.

"And rule number two," he smiles, "Don't get distracted."

Any fondness seems to evaporate as I stand and we begin to train.

An hour later, Hawthorne is up to rule twenty and three bruises line my face; they are all of my own doing.

Hawthorne is in great spirits. "It's not so easy to fight, is it?"

I shrug, not wanting to play into whatever mood has caught him.

"Of course, I'm sure it's much harder fighting with a silver spoon in your mouth."

I am a fool and I am angry. Perhaps the two combined make my own reaction somewhat heated. I don't like Hawthorne thinking of me this way, especially now that I consider him a friend. The words flow out of the cuff, "much easier than with a lump of coal shoved up your ass."

Hawthorne looks surprised but re-aligns his features. "Not all of us had the luxury of parties and debauchery. We were trying to feed our families."

This dark boy knows nothing about the Capitol youth. "And we were trying to survive."

He snorts, " Oh, yeah. Like your survival depended on spirits and tattoos."

His own ink stares back from his skin like a becan, I point to the spot. It occurs to me that we are sparring, on the edge of something more serious. His face darkens and I can't seem to recall the same fondness from a moment ago.

"That's different. It's personal, not some fashion statement like your hoops."

_Green eyes stare back at me. I can taste the salt on his tongue and feel him whisper he is sorry in my ear._ My breath leaves my lungs in raged drags. And I fight back tears. My hand seeks the hoop on its own. An ache fills my heart. I refuse to cry. Instead, I focus on the words, sending the signals to my bracelet, not sure why I'm trying to defend myself. Because _I am a fool._ Because I care what the dark-boy thinks. "These. Are. Personal."

Hawthorne snorts. "What? One for every rave you've attended."

He doesn't understand. But then, noone outside of Capitol Youth does. "I am not what you think I am."

He doesn't believe me. I can see some old prejudice resurface in his eyes. "I know what you are. Capitol brats are famous for two things: rebellion and their Hunger Games-obsession."

In my mind, my fingers trace the scars on _his_ body_. _The nights he'd spend crying in his sleep. Anger takes over logic as the protest leaves the vcuff, "I hated the games!"

"Lies! The games never touched you!"

My gaze narrows as the darkness storms over me. A spark of anger and denial claws it's way into my mind, down my arm. I realize how badly I want to prove him wrong as the information forms and shoots into the cuff. I point to the gold hoop in my ear as the cuff announces, "_he_ was in the games."

Hawthorne's eyes dance from my own to the hoop in my ear. After a moment, something clicks. He understands. We are both silent, turning over the words we've exchanged.

I am scolding myself for telling Hawthorne when he finally speaks. "You loved him?"

Flashes of his smile. The warmth of his arms and his chuckle in my ear. The despair which clawed and consumed me when he left. It takes all of my strength to nod, to acknowledge something I've kept so long buried. I really am a fool.

Something break's in Hawthorne's eyes, but it is erased before I can understand it.

"And you lost him?"

A vision of a slight girl in a wedding comes to mind and pain, pain so severe my entire body became ill. Then, a broken body, mangled beyond repair. One had seemed like such a loss, like such a defeat. It was sad that when the latter came, I would have prayed for the first a thousand times over.

I distract the ache in my chest with a nod of my head. He looks defeated."I didn't know. I'm sorry."

Something passes between us, some sliver of understanding. He smiles hopelessly toward me and I find myself responding. If I am fool, then so is Hawthorne and the thought of us being fools together seems to mollify my panic and suffocate my doubt.


	7. What Taunts

**(Vox- POV)**

**ENJOY**

* * *

><p>Another week passes and still, my sparring suffers. My moves are too clumsy and my limbs don't seem to move the way I wish them to. Hawthorne likes to smile when I trip over my feet. I find him rolling his eyes as I aim my punches or attempt to duck from his. Each day I do not improve is another assurance that I am not cut out for this.<p>

It is late in the afternoon today, another round of fighting with Hawthorne has left me bruised and heavy. My limbs ache and burn as I attempt to defend myself. Today, he has made a game of my fate. Each time the dark-boy hits me, he cheers for himself. The agitation works it's way up my arms and my face is red from anger by the seventh hit. His smile is brighter than I've ever seen it. I ignore the happiness it attempts to bring me.

_I am brave. I will not let him hit me again. I am not a fool. Focus._

As he hits me once more, I decide speed and skill will not work. I file through every peace of information I know of Hawthorne, trying to find anything that may throw him off momentarily. I become desperate when another hit lands on my ribs. I am about to tease him about his lover when I remember his flinch eariler. We had been walking to the spar room as Soldier Green passed. He called Hawthorne _Cousin_. It is not the first time I've heard the nickname and with each reference I see it affect him. My curiosity ebbs into my anger as he lands a tenth hit and cheers madly for himself.

"Ready for more?"

I smile and the words form in my mind. The cuff spits them out with little malice but I see the effect on his face. "Sure am," they say, "_cousin_."

His eyes darken as I aim a blow to his head. My hand is caught mid air by his own and he pulls me close. His other arm locks onto my left one and drags my body against his. Detachedly, I note how dark each of the whiskers on his chin are.

Hawthorne is no longer cheering for himself. "Do. Not. Call. Me that."

I watch his eyes burn with anger and wonder if it is possible for the anger to spill over from the depths. His own eyes watch mine and I see them dip lower, to my lips. Mine burn to drop as well, to glance at his own mouth, taste his breath, but I think of the earlier lesson, I won't let him distract me.

Of course, he is distracted. I make myself as small as possible and swoop down, slipping out of his arms. I kick out, trying to sweep his feet from under him but instead managing to kick his shin. He swears and jumps around, congratulating me, his eyes back to their playful manor.

I don't mention that I had meant to sweep his feet out, instead enjoying his momentary praise. Maybe I am getting better at this.

* * *

><p>I am not getting any better at this. Three weeks into my sparing and my face is lined with bruises. My body is slowed and swollen and there is a constant ringing in my left ear from a fall I took last week. For all my effort, I have barley touched Hawthrone. The training is no longer a game for him, each time I fall he yanks me to my feet and each time he lands a hit his frustration grows into a palpable thing.<p>

Both Hawthorne and my body are ready for this torture to be over. Banks, however does not, as evident by our latest lovely chats. Just as Hawthorne lands a blow to my throat, knocking me onto my back, I know he has reached his limit.

"That's it!" he yells. "This isn't going to work."

The words hold such finality that my heart begins to race. This is it. This is when I will die. Of course, it's not something I've thought of too much within the last two months. Knowing you'll be replaced if you don't complete the training is reason enough to give-it-your greatest effort. Banks had been very clear on how easily I would be discarded. I lift my beaten body, ready for more, ready to prove I am worth living.

Hawthorne shakes his head. "No more, you can't do this."

I am a desperate fool. "Please. I will try again."

"You're no competition for me."

All hope runs out of me, as if it were a gas leaving my lungs. I have failed. Banks will replace me and Hawthorne will never think of it again. Some part of me is angry at the thought, angry at myself for not being good enough and at Hawthorne for not giving me the proper chance. "Fine," I hear the cuff say, "Just get it over with."

A moment passes and nothing happens, Hawthorne is frowning at me. "What?"

"I'm being replaced, right? So, get it over with." I nod toward the knife on his belt.

A bark of laughter escapes his lips. "The Rebels wouldn't do that, this isn't _your_ Capitoll!"

A scowl lights my face. I am already dead, and I am a fool and I am too tired to care about either.

"_My_ Captiol would never do this!" the cuff drones.

"_My _Capitol would never force twenty-years olds to marry a stranger! _My_ Capitol would not threaten death if a clumsy girl couldn't finish basic Grind training!"

Some shock lines Hawthonres face as he shakes his head "You're mistaken." His dismissal is the final blow. A tear falls down my cheek and I feel all hope inside me die. I turn to leave as Hawthorne grabs my arm, he spots the wetness on my face. "I'm sorry, Vox." It is the first time my name has left his lips. "I just-….Tell me what happened."

The memory of the blade digs into my throat, I swallow away the fear.

"Banks threatened to…" the fear settles in my stomach, I fight to form the words, "to cut things off of me if I don't pass the training, If I don't marry-"

"He has no authority."

A figure standing in the corner, nodding approvingly. "President Paylor was there."

I wait for Hawthorne to accuse me of lies. To cast away the truth I've offered. to deny his government is capable of such things. He doesn't. Instead, Hawthorne nods once and says, "I'll help you. I won't them replace you."

I fight the hope that is clawing it's way through me. "You said there was no helping me."

"We need someone closer to your size to help. I'll ask a friend. Trust me."

I look into his eyes and feel the hope bloom. I am not a fool. Hawthorne will not let me die.

* * *

><p>Two mornings later, Hawthorne's friend is standing beside him as I walk into the sparring room. The steel walls of this room are lined with black paint. I wonder if it is designed to cover the blood.<p>

Hawthorne is in the corner of the room in a charcol t-shirt, matching his eyes. The woman at his side is close to my size and age. Her eyes are green and hook upward. Strangely, I am struck by her similarities with a cat Seta once adopted. Something about her eyes and stance was feline. The cat had loved nearly everyone but me; me it had bitten.

Like Hawthorne, she wears grey. Her shirt is more of scraps tied together to reveal skin in strategically attractive places. I ignore the sight of her full breasts and lean stomach. Seta would probably call this girl a scat, slang used to describe a girl free with her attentions. I nod toward them.

"Vox, This is Soldier Loree."

She smiles and it does nothing to brighten her face. There is an edge behind her voice as she coos, "Please, call me Johanna."

I nod once more, not caring what she calls me.

Hawthorne tells me to stretch and I pull my body into the positions.

Johanna is either deaf or ignorant as her poor-whispers are easily heard.

"You didn't tell me she was so… _Captiol_." The word sounds like a slur. _Scat_

"It has no bearing."

I hear her snort as I duck up from the stretching. Nothing further is said.

"Okay, get into position."

We do and I see from the way she stands her left leg is favored, her right shoulder is slightly dropped and from the way her right wrist is held, it has once been broken. All of the information could help, but it is not guaranteed to win me the fight. I swallow the fear I feel at her sneer. Nothing about this spar will be pleasant.

I imagine Seta next to me, _get that scat._ The image produces a smile, which Johanna misinterprets as a challenge. She smiles back, despite my own reserves about flesh connecting with flesh, I find I have less reservations about hitting this particular girl.

"You know," Johanna says as she begins to circle me, "I was stationed at the Capitol for some time. I wonder if we've met?"

_Rule number two, don't get distracted_. I ignore her.

The circle continues and I remember Hawthorne's fifth rule, _always keep your opponent in front of you. _

"Surely, I knew you're father- You look quite familiar." She charges me but I duck in time to avoid it._ Rule number three, avoid. avoid. avoid_. Hawthorne makes an encouraging sound from the side of us.

Johanna is not fased by the miss. She continues as if nothing has happened. _Rule number ten. don't let mistakes get into your head._ "I knew a man named Rhodes with hair like yours."

The name distracts me and I trip over my feet. Johanna comes at me, again and this time knocks me to the ground. _Rule seventeen. GET UP VOX!_

"Pay attention Vox!" I nearly snarl back at Hawthorne.. I'm still shaken from Loree's words. I do know a Rhodes with pale hair like my own. Rhodes is Seta's father. Our hair was the reason we became friends. As children, everyone assumed we were sisters. As we grew, we stopped correcting them. _FOCUS!_

Johanna's smile at me and I realize she saw the name made me falter. I have confirmed some shot-in-dark attempt to distract me. I was distracted. _Rule thirteen. Don't let them see you care._

I pick myself up and nearly stumble again as she says, "he had a daughter near your age, I think." _Ignore the scat!_ my mind-Seta whispers. I try but my vision burns with unshed tears. Something burns in my throat.

Hawthorne yells again, "Quit talking. Start fighting. Vox watch your spacing, keep a strong stance." I can't remember which number rules those are. My distress becomes palpable.

"Oh hush, _Cousin_," Johanna laughs, "We're just catching up."

_Rule fifteen. When all else fails, be creative_. I dodge low and try to sweep out Johanna's legs. My strike is too slow as she hops over the kick. At least she is taking me more serious now. _Rule five. Make them __sweat. _

Her face turns crueler, she snarls, "What was the girl's name, again? Seema?"

She knows her name. Fire licks my veins. I want to hurt her. _Rule ten. don't let your anger get the best of you._

"It's a shame she died so young."

The fire erupts through my body. Blood leaves my face. Blackness sparks before my eyes. I forget my posture, standing stiff.

"VOX! Pay attention!"

Nothing he says get's through. I am a wall. I am glass. There are no rules. My heart aches. Seta is dead.

"died in one of the raids," Johanna says and with the six words I loose all control. I launch myself at the women, landing completely on top of her. Some terrible-noise screams out of my mouth as I slam her head against the mats. Instead, of a satisfying crack I hear a thunk. It is not enough. I raise my fist and bring my whole body behind the blow. Her head snaps back again.

With a sharp shove, she slips me over and raises her fist. The first hit bites deeply into the skin near my eye. I welcome the pain, it shields me from the tearing my heart feels. Just before her fist meets my face again, darkness descends and Hawthorne yells my name.


	8. What Ends

**(Gale- POV)**

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><p>My mind picks at the cafeteria walls as Ryder drones on about his latest assignment. The colors in the room are purple and yellow and yet, the room is the least welcoming in the Grind. Metal lines each corner and makes up the benches and tables where everyone eats. People have carved names and dates into any open surface.<p>

"-You're not even listening to me," Ryder chuckles.

I barely stifle an eye roll. "You're unhappy with whatever post you're given."

He sniffs in dramatics, "Perhaps, I should have a higher rank, then. After all, I am responsible for finding the top trainer at Grinda."

I laugh, thinking that we have this conversation too often. Some men file into the room and the space seems to narrow. I wonder if the cafeteria was made too be so small, as if to herd the cattle.

"There you go again. You're so quiet lately."

Ryder is frowning at me. "Is it your new Grind? Is the no talking-thing getting to you?"

I don't tell him that I cherish the silence with Vox or the protective rage I felt as Johanna drove her fist into the sharp features of her face. No, I don't even mention that my eyes, on entirely their own accord, are searching the room for her now. I shrug

Ryder snorts. "Well, you need to snap out of it." He points to a group across the hall, "her closest friends don't seem to loose their speech around her."

My eyes follow his finger and I notice the shock of white hair, crowded by four other bodies. Something in me is mollified. The girl next to her is the same one I saw in the hallway that day. I am not sure of her name. The other two are males, and Grinds from the looks of their uniforms. As I watch, one boy leans into Vox. He is large and I'm stunned how lithely he preforms the action. Her face turns up toward him as she nudges him back affectionately. I turn away.

"I like the quiet," I explain.

He glances back with a more critical gaze. "Oh yes," he cooes, "The quiet is _quite_ attractive."

Ryder had the "Just because you can fall in love with a mop handle, doesn't mean we're all desperate to do the same."

"Oh. So you don't think the grinds attractive?" Fire eats away at me and I grow uncomfortable, hot in different places. I'd rather not talk about any of this with Ryder.

"Because I can't stop thinking about her, I wondered if you'd mind if I ask her out."

Panic stabs through me and blood pound in my ears. "What?"

"That's what I thought," Ryder says satisfied. _He was goading me._ I mollify the flames I feel. I ignore the thought of the two of them wrapped into each other. It strikes me that I have no reason to be so protective about Vox. Until I realize that she has become a friend. Someone I enjoy spending time with and have found I don't enjoy hitting in the face. Besides, Ryder is a dog with woman.

"You know, I really should have left you in that hovercraft."

He laughs, "you would have missed me."

A moment passes and my eyes glance back toward the corner on their own. Ryder notices the action. "So, how is she progressing?"

"She's sharp," I admit. "Terrible at Sparing, though."

The man chuckles, "Yeah, I heard Johanna knocked her out."

The wince works it's way through my entire body. A vision of a bloody Vox comes to mind, the whites of her eyes stare back at me. Panic had nearly eaten me through until I'd found her pulse throbbing beneath her skin. "She wouldn't talk to me for two days."

"Johanna, not talking? Poor you."

Ryder has always made his feelings toward Johanna quite clear. Some incident last summer had left a rift between them. I ignore the commentary.

"Not, Johanna, _Vox_."

He looks confused, "Gale, she already doesn't talk."

I shrug, agreeing and disagreeing with him. It had taken a considerable amount of cooling down before she had looked toward me again. I don't blame her for the anger. Words of significance were exchanged between Johanna and Vox within the spar room. The meaning was slightly unclear but I when Johanna mentioned a Seta, Vox had completely froze. Her legs went slack, her weight became dead and she forgot everything she's learned in the past few weeks. Fighting with anger is fighting stupid and as she had proved, can get you hurt. Flashes of her launching herslef at Johana like a wild animal are both amusing and frightening. Something had been torn open with their words that day. Vox refuses to answer any of my questions.

Both women, are sporting bruises, though Vox's is more pronounced. My eyes work themselves back toward her spot across the hall. The bruise is turning yellow and takes up half of her face. She is starring at her friend Cair, studying the girl as if she were an intricate problem to be solved.

I speak the words before I even realize I've speak them aloud. "She has eyes like a bird."

Ryder's eyebrows lift, glancing across the hall. "Vox? What do you mean?"

Her eyes lift from Cair and flit toward the other Grinds. I watch as she studies each one of them. I'm sure she's searching for something.

"She's perceptive. The details she notices somehow become a big picture. She knows things."

"Hm."

A laugh escpaes my lips, "the other day she suggested my lover stop being so rough on my neck."

Ryder's eyes expand in surprise. "You told her about Johanna?"

"Of course not. They fought and Johanna taunted her and Vox reacted badly. Still, nothing was said that suggested we used to-"

Ryder's eyes brows raise, "dock your hovercraft in her-"

"that's enough, Ryder."

He laughs.

He barley manages to stop before his eyes light up again, "speaking of the lovely-as-a-pit-of-vipers Johana!"

Johana sits next to me, smiling under her long lashes. Her bruise is a shade darker than what it was yesterday, but I'm still left unaffected. After the training fiasco, I ended our relationship. As expected, she'd reacted poorly. Her dark hair hangs over her shoulder and for a moment, I'm stuck at how close it is in color to Katniss'. The comparison is easily forgotten when she slides her hand dangerously high on my thigh beneath the table.

My body stiffens, and irrationally, my eyes fly across the room. They are searching and meeting a pair of large brown eyes framed by chin-length pale hair. Vox is starring back at me, dark brows pinched together, I watch as they scan down my neck and chest and come to rest on the hand beneath the table. The bruise covering her cheek stares back at me, accusing. I am about to go to her, for no reason at all, when she turns toward the large boy next to her.

Some knot in my stomach grows as I pull Johanna's hand off of me. "You know better than that, Jo." She smiles and for once, it does nothing to soothe the anger I feel. Nothing lies between us anymore.

"Oh, come on _Cousin_, no one minds."

"It's against protocol."

Ryder raises a hand lamely. "And, I mind."

Johanna glances his way. "Why don't you let the adults talk this out, honey."

She leans forward whispering under her breath, "I'm going to politely ignore what you said the other day. I know you miss me," she runs a finger down the inseam of my slacks. "Just as, I miss that sound you make when you co-"

"Enough."

She blinks, offended. "I told you once. Twice is getting repetitive."

I Ignore Ryder's bark of laughter. "We're done, Soldier Loree. You're dismissed."

Johanna's mouth opens, surely to say something of no importance just as I spot a shock of white hair slip out the doors. Without any thought, I stand. The echoes of Ryder's laughter carry me out through the doors, across the enclave and beneath a tree where Vox Stands. .

She turns, her body vibrating. Vox is furious. . Her hands lift, pointing toward the hall. It takes a minute for the cuff to execute the words. "_HER!_" the harsh voice commands. "You're sleeping with _HER!_"

I reach out to calm her. She shakes away the gesture. I am compelled to explain. To make her understand. "Not anymore."

Words erupt from the bracelet. "How could you!"

Shame courses through me. I knew this was against the rule but more than that, I knew the relationship was wrong. Johanna has always been cruel and in my darkest moments, I used it for my advantage. Vox doesn't wait for an answer.

"Do you know the things she said to me?" She continues to shake, her fists open and close. Her lips are mashed together and I want to know what has this power over her. Curiosity burns, eating away my shame.

"Who is Seta?"

"You do not deserve to know that," the words pierce the morning breeze, "you are _with_ her!"

I close the space between us, grabbing her shoulders. "Vox, I ended it. I'm not with her. Tell me what she said."

Indecision fights on her face for a moment before I see her resolve. As if deflated, her head hangs and her weight becomes heavy. I hold her up, rubbing circles into her arms to encourage her and to reassure myself.

"Seta was my best friend," her breath drags in, "Johanna told me she's dead."

I think of Katniss' face, her smile when we'd check the snares. My stomach aches and I find myself nodding, pulling Vox completely into my arms. For a moment, her entire body is stiff. A deep breath wracks through her as her muscles go liquid and she buries her face into my neck.

She pushes back after a moment and I'm surprised to find her face dry of tears. "There is more-" the words echo. "Johanna said she died in a raid, they were only raiding high official houses, her dad was a baker." I dont understand what she is telling me. Vox spots my confusion.

"They were looking for me," the cuff says. I watch her lips stay mashed together, in despair, as the voice leaves her arm, "Seta died because of me."

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><p><strong>Review<strong>


	9. What Sways

**Enjoy.**

**Gale P.O.V**

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><p>The spirits slide down my throat, leaving a trail of fire down it's wake. Ryder laughs at the way my face pinches at the taste.<p>

"You don't drink enough, Gale."

I cough through the burn, "No, you just drink too much."

He smiles and returns to describing his latest fling. After another moment, he asks me about Vox.

"She's progressing." I think of the moments we've spent together the last few days. The way her eyes light up when talking about Seta, how mischievous she looks when she tells me of sneaking out in the night. I don't wound her pride by recalling the rules I broke, or the one time I got caught.

"Uh oh."

I resurface from the thoughts, noticing Ryder frowing at me.

"What?"

He smiles, knowingly. "That smile! What was that?"

"What smile."

"The lovesick schoolboy smile you're face just adopted."

Lovesick? I scowl at the thought.

"Are you getting attached, G?"

Images flit through my mind. The color of her eyes as she laughs, the strength of her face as she lifts a dark eyebrow. They replay in my mind like a broken record.

"No, of course not."

Ryder looks disbelieving. I don't blame him. "sure, friend."

"Alright," Rena says, placing her glass down and taking the seat next to mine, "what did I miss?"

Ryder smiles and I glare towards the look. Rena is another trainer at Grinda and though we sometimes speak, she is no one I wish to talk about Vox with.

"Gale's just telling me how his new recruit is doing."

"The Avox girl?"

"Vox," I correct her.

Rena nods to a corner, "You're girl is here, Hawthorne. I just saw her walk in."

I turn and spot a group of people arranging themselves around a table. There, among the seven Grinds, is Vox. At first, I'm not sure if it is her, but the white hair brushing the leather on her shoulders reassures me. She is not wearing the shorts and plain shirt I'm accustomed to seeing her in. Instead, she wears black jeans that look as if they've been poured onto her legs. Leather sits on her shoulders and covers a green silk tunic. The tunic dips deeply in the front, showing off the curve of her breast. Her eyes are lined in some Smokey black offsetting the white glow of her hair. Something stirs inside me. Sexual awareness washes through me like fire and I hve to actively keep myself from going to her. The alcohol whispers into my mind, tells me to go to her.

I pull my eyes away from Vox to find Ryder smiling towards me. "I need another drink."

He chuckles and waves down a waitress, "two more, and keep them coming."

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><p>Smoke and alcohol wrap around us. as we sit at the Grinda bar. The walls are patched over with posters and old weapons. The lighting is low, making half the bar filled with shadows. A small space in front of speakers stands toward the back of the bar. Cair tells me that later people will dance there. Right now, it looks empty and too small. I sit at a table with Tank, Jorr and Cair.<p>

Rita, Kane, Harrison and Jace sit behind us, close enough for our conversations to mesh together. Throughout the bar, glasses clink together and people cheer. In some spaces, men and women sit close, drawing each other near enough to definitely be against protocol.

Tank and Cair order us another round and I try to focus on what is being said.

"-know who did it."

"Did what?"

"Someone broke into Bank's office last night."

My attention is peaked. "What did they steal?"

Jorr shrugs, "Nothing."

"It just doesn't make sense," Cair starts, "why would someone break in and take nothing."

From behind us, Rita snorts, "Don't be daft. They took something. It's just something Banks doesn't want to admit he's lost."

"Like what?" Kane asks.

Cair has never had a good relationship with Rita and admittiably neither have I. The girl is slender and appears innocent but in truth, rather curel. Cair says that the girl before me left the program after Rita cut seven inches off her hair while she slept.

"Don't listen to her, Kane," Cair scowls. "She doesn't know what she's talking about."

Rita's smile twists and Jace, her friend, rolls her eyes at Cair. "I know plently, Cairina."

Jorr stiffens, "Shove off, Rita."

She smiled at him. "Did you know your girlfriend can't read, Three?"

I glance toward Cair, watching as her eyes grow wide. Jorr and Tank look confused.

"shut the hell up!" Cair snarls.

Jorr places a hand on her shoulder, keeping her in the seat. I see his thumb rub small circles in the fabric there.

Rita chuckles. "It's a pity, really. I guess district ten didn't value education much."

I'm surprised to hear Cair is illiterate, despite my watching, I've never noticed her struggle. "Ten valued survival. I can skin you in ten second flat, Rita. Be sure to remember that."

Rita's eyes narrow as Tank speaks. "That's enough."

Kane looks uncomfortable as Harrison says, "We're here for Vox's birthday. I'm sick of this female squabbling."

Rita mutters something to Jace beneath her breath and the girl giggles like a child.

Cair drains her drink as she and Jorr stand. "We're going to get another. Want one, Vox?"

I nod, not caring how I'll feel tomorrow.

Tank strikes up a conversation with Kane, who sits behind him. Awkwardly, I glance to Harrison. He smiles at me and I note his strong brow, the red tint to his hair.

"Having fun yet," he jokes.

I snort.

"So how old are you, now?"

It hits me how strange it feels to be doing this. I am sitting in a bar, at a training camp, drinking and speaking with people. They are not ignoring me and I am not serving them. I feel like on of them, something that has not happened in a very long time.

I hold up two fingers on my right hand and one on my left. He smiles.

"Twenty one! You're nearly my age."

I smile, thinking he is less annoying than I originally assumed.

We talk more about the others, our home districts and what we would have been doing if not for the war. Time slips away as I sit there, drinking and talking to Harrison. Cair and Jorr return, looking more rumpled and Rita eventually pulls Tank and Jace out to the makeshift dancefloor.

I watch as their bodies move, in pace with the rhythm the speakers push out. Rita backs herself into Tank and I watch her grind into him. The sight reminds me how young we are, reminds me of the nights I'd dance with Seta, with absolute abandon. I have not felt that free since.

Harrison nudges me smiling toward the floor. "Common, Vox. I want a dance with the birthday girl."

I start to protest, to which Harrison ignores. He pulls me out onto the floor next to where Jace is dancing with some sandy-haired man. For once, I give little thought to either of them, nor do I worry about the hand Harrison lays around my waist. Instead, I close my eyes and loose myself in the beat. My body moves, my hands raise and I let the song flow through me. I am free, I am alive.

A few songs later, my mouth feels dry. I turn to tell Harrison that I'm going to the bar when I see him. Hawthorne is there, in the mass of bodies. He is moving next to a girl with cropped black hair. She smiles at him and he nods at the man next to him, the man dancing with Jace. I'm shocked to realize the man is Ryder.

The girl next to Hawthorne holds both of her hands up and swivels her hips, smiling devilishly at Hawthorne and I'm pleased to see he doesn't notice. Instead, his eyes lift to the direct spot where I stand. I take a step back, startled. The way he smiles at me tells me he is not. His eyes seem clear, and when they dip down over me I can tell he has been watching me dance.

He pushes through the crowd, not noticing Harrison swaying against Rita or Cair pulling Jorr onto the floor. Tank is dancing with a red-headed girl and from the smile on his face, quite enjoying himself. Everyone is either too distracted or too gone to notice Hawthorne as he slides up next to me.

He smiles at me with heavy-lided eyes. "Vox."

I nod, realizing he smells of cloves, forest and spirits. He leans close and whispers, his breath tickles the skin on my neck. "You dance very well."

Heat licks my spine. Hawthorne leans back and begins to sway with the music. His hand falls onto my waist, guiding me to follow. The rhythm eats away my fears and I feel my body move with Hawthorne's. We say, becoming one and the friction turns my body alive. Sexual desire stabs through me and I ache to lean up and brush my lips over his own.

The alcohol is surely to blame.

Someone jostles us, pushing us closer. I'm sure it is Ryder and Jace, who were near us a moment before, but the new closeness distracts me. Hawthorne makes a sound in his throat before stepping away from me. "That's it."

I'm disappointed until he grabs my hand, pulling me from the floor, "come with me."

We don't leave the bar, but instead turn down some corner just past the restrooms. There is a small nook leading into a door and Hawthorne turns me, pushing me against it. I'm partly too surprised to say anything and worried that if I do the moment will end.

He leans close and for the first time, I realize how drunk he is.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Hawthorne says as he raises and hand, drawing it across my collarbone. His eyes are glued to the spot of skin.

The words are thick and I wish I could push them out through my own voice. I'm sur they would be just as husky as his own. "Cair made me come," I say and just to distract him from returning to reality, I add, "it's my birthday."

Hawthorne's eyebrows raised, surprised. "I didn't know."

I shrug, ignoring the fire in my gut.

After a moment, his hand raises to my cheek. He looks into my eyes and sighs as he traces my jawline. "You're always so quiet Vox. So peaceful, like the woods." He mumbles the last part and I fight the shiver at his touch. His eyes unfocus for a moment. "I miss the woods," he says.

I smile sadly at him, thinking of the way I catch him staring into their depths from time to time. "I know you do."

He focuses back on me. "You always know, because you notice me."

I nod, not sure why his eyes begin to look haunted.

Hawthornes hand falls away and I miss the warmth. His eyes loose focus again. "Maybe that's why it feels so different."

I have no idea what he is talking about but I let him continue. He is so close that I can see each grey line in his eyes.

"You're nothing like _her_."

The word catches my attention and I remember the way he looks when he talks of his lost friend. The same look colors his eyes.

"Katniss was a terrible, listener, you know? Sometimes, she didn't even know I was there."

_Katniss_. The word sends a shock into my system. Why is Hawthorne speaking of the Mockingjay?

"But you do. You _see_ me."

He smiles sardonically. "I'm not her cousin. I'm sure you already knew that, though.

_Cousin_. It's as if ice water has been tossed over me. I feel heavy from the shock. Hawthorne is called Cousin. Katniss's cousin. G. Hawthonre. The Cousin's name was Gale. Gale Hawthorne. The Mockingjay's second. Hawthorne is the Mockingjay's second. Hawthorne lead the rebellion. I feel as if I'll be sick.

He is still speaking, not noticing the horror on my face, "-othing gets passed you."

And then, the last piece falls into place. Hawthorne, Gale Hawthorne was in love with his childhood friend, the friend he lost. Hawthorne was in love with the Mockingjay.

"Gale!" someone calls out from the end of the hall, hammering the truth into my skin again.

Ryder appears muttering, "thought so," under his breath. He pulls Hawthorne away from me. "Let's go big boy, time for bed."

Hawthorne snarls, "let go of me, we're just talking."

Ryder smiles at me. "You two can _talk_ tomorrow, when the spirits are out of your head.

They leave and I slide down the wall as the world around me crumbles.


	10. What Pours

**Enjoy.**

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><p>The rain falls around me, sliding over my skin, mixing together with the tears lining my cheeks. I sit in the field that Hawthorne brought me to. On that day, the sun shined and warmed my body. Today the field feels empty and cold.<p>

I skipped my lesson this morning, not brave enough to face Gale. After sliding through my classes in a daze, I found myself here, unable to face him for our afternoon sparring.

My muscles feel tight, ready for a confrontation and my stomach churns in unease. I am not sure who I am hiding from, myself or Hawthorne. _Gale_, my mind supplies.

The beautiful face of the Mockingjay flits through my mind and I shudder at the thought. The mockingjay is responsible for this life I have. She is the districts were thrown into chaos, the reason I have no speech, the reason my father is dead, the reason _he_ is dead. For the past four years the Mockingjay has been my own villain. I curse her name and feel better at knowing that someone is responsible for the pain that tears at my gut.

And even though a part of me foolishly holds onto the idea, the more logical me realizes how childish it is. The mockingjay did not cause the chaos, she merely fueled it. The Capitol was corrupt and the things we were forced to do, the way the districts were oppressed, made rebellion inevitable.

Everyone assumed that the Capitol populace was no different- that we were not forced down and pushed around by the officials in the government. It is a foolish thought, for who else would the capitol control more than the ones they are closet to, the ones who represent them.

The Captiol youth were portrayed as shallow beings whose only fears were when their next drink would come or where to get their next tattoo. The truth couldn't be further from it. The children who questioned, who tried to go against the grain would always go missing. Entire families would disappear in the night, never to be seen again. The capitol raised us to think alike, to look alike. They raised us to enjoy the blood and violence of the Games and yet, to act like wild youth- too busy to question the workings of the world.

Despite, their best efforts, it didn't work. Many of the raves were actually meetings in which the youth would band together, council those whose friends had disappeared and keep agendas on how to take suspicion off of yourself. Drugs, spirits and outward appearance were the easiest tools at our disposal. If we managed to look like they wanted, act like they wanted, then our families remained safe. Often, the capitol looked toward the children in the family, to make sure the parents still held faith to the government. Youth who'd been raised otherwise tended to question and make noise.

Even my own father, a man who admitably was high up in the Capitol, was forced to play a role. And the day that the Mockingjay forced his hand, to deviate from the role, my father was killed.

The ache stabs at my gut again and the rain pounds down around me, as if trying to clense away my hurt.

A moment later, I hear someone moving through the tall grass. I'm not sure how I knew he would come, in fact, it wasn't until that moment that I even knew I was expecting him. I guess now I know why my legs carried my to this spot, a spot I've come to associate with him.

"Why didn't you show up?" He asks in annoyance. I blink up at him through the rain. The water plasters his hair to his skin, making it look blacker. The shirt he wears is soaked through, outlining his abdomen and shoulders. It is hard for my mind to attribute this man as the co-leader of the rebellion. This is a man I trust. A man I care for.

I form the words and instead of coming out accusing, they sound resigned, defeated.

"You're name is Gale."

He looks at me as If I've told him the sky is blue. "What are yo-"

"You're Gale Hawthorne. You're the Mockingjay's second."

It take a moment for him to realize the words I'm speaking. I see from the way his face changes. "You didn't know?"

I look away from him. Ignoring the stirring I feel at his soft tone.

Hawthorne moves closer to me, "Common' let's get out of this weather."

Beause I am childish and hurt and because I remember he loved Katniss Everdeen, I say, "It should be good for you. To wash away the blood on you're hands."

"I told you. I thought I was doing the right thing."

I stand, unable to feel that small next to him. "The bomb. The bomb that killed my classmates, was that the right thing?"

Agony rips his features and I try to stay angry at him.

"You don't think I feel terrible? You don't think I wish I'd died in that bomb! I had no intent on it ever even being made. I designed it on a whi-"

"You're lying."

"I didn't want anyone to die, Vox." The rain pours around us as Hawthorne grabs my hand. I try to free it, but he holds on, tugging me closer.

"You know me. I didn't want that," there is desperation in his voice, in his eyes.

"I just wanted chance. I wanted to be free of _them_. Please. Please, believe me."

Words spoken ages ago return to me. They are from the lips of _him_ and he says the same thing as Hawthorne. Everyone wanted to be free of the Capitol-even it's children. I am not sure if I can forgive the Mockingjay for what she has taken from me. But, as I stand in the rain, watching Hawthorne fall apart, I decide I can forgive him. Because, when I think back to my love, and those words he once spoke to me, I remember feeling I would take on the world to give him freedom. And in that way, Gale Hawthorne and I are alike.


	11. What Gnaws

**Enjoy**

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><p>Jealousy eats away at me the next few days as Hawthorne- <em>Gale<em>, my mind corrects, tells me about Katniss Everdean. He speaks about their childhoods, their families, his love for her and how the hunger Games destroyed it. He barely mentions her famous lover Peeta or what happened after the war, but the information he gives is enough to make my stomach turn.

The Mockingjay's face comes to mind as he tells me about a stolen kiss and the fire fuels. I remember her in the flame dress and I decide she is stunning. My jealousy grows.

Once, he asks about the hoops, about my lover and I tell him bits and pieces. I am not altogether ready to reveal that to Hawthorne, especially now that I know who he is.

Instead, I tell him about the other hoops, one for Seta and another for my first love.

The boys name was Blayke and for a while, I was enamored with him. I tell Hawthorne of how we would sneak outside to meet in the night and spend hours laying in his mother's garden. Unlike me, Gale shows no signs that my stories bother him in the slightest. He smiles and nods and laughs when I tell him that I dyed Blayke's beloved blonde hair neon orange, after I'd found him cheating.

No, Hawthorne- _Gale_, seems to not care one way or the other about the other men and still, my own jealously eats away at me like a virus.

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><p><strong>(Gale P.O.V.)<strong>

_I am standing in a field of roses. The roses are red, the color of blood. Somewhere far away a girl stands, hands brushing the top of each rose. I walk toward her, studying the outline of her back, the way her hair brushes over her shoulders, touching the blades on her back._

_She begins to walk further away, and I speed up to keep pace. I cannot see her face, but I'm sure she is smiling. My heart lifts and I chase her._

_Just as I'm behind her, close enough to brush my fingers over her back, a boy appears. She smiles, jumping into his arms. Kissing his lips, she runs her fingers through his hair and darkness descends upon me._

_Anger and fear rip through me. I will loose her, again. This boy will take her. They entangle and no matter how loud I yell, neither of them turn._

_When the boy steps back and smiles at me, my world shatters. I look back toward her, and with a start realize this is not Katniss. Standing in front of me, wrapped in the arms of Peeta Mellark, stands Vox._

I come awake with a start, dragging breath into my into my body. The world shifts as I stand and fights away the images. The darkness engulfs me, eats away at me. Thoughts of her plague my mind, her within the roses, within his arms.

I know I have to leave, get rid of the darkness and I start to dress. Before, I grab my shirt a knock comes at my door. Forgetting the shirt, I open the door, shocked to find Vox there.

She smiles and something in my breaks. Relief floods inside, fills me up, eating away the darkness. As it settles, something in my mind changes. Vox holds up cards, a hopeful expression on her face.

I decide before I'm even aware. I pull Vox forward, inside the room. I kiss her and somehow remember to shut the door with my foot. It slams and stupidly I realize she is kissing me back, matching each frantic kiss with her own. Our lips move together, trying to mesh us. Deciding we are not close enough, Vox wraps her arms around my neck and jumps up, wrapping her legs around my waist.

Sexual desire punches through me as the kiss lights me on fire. Franticall,y I push back against her, placing her back against the steel wall of my room.

I think of nothing but her. She eats away at my mind and kisses away an image of Peeta's arms around her.

Her lips pull away and make their way to my neck. She bites the skin there and I push further against her, a strangled sound escaping my lips. Each of us are fighting for breath as she kisses me again. I brush my tongue over her lips and am happy at the sound she makes, deep in her throat.

Another pounding knock comes at the door and we pull apart, as children caught doing something wrong. Vox looks shocked and rumpled. The hem of her shirt has dipped up slightly, revealing some kind of ink touching her hip.

I smooth down my own shirt and hair. It takes longer to pull down the clumps of hair Vox had pulled up moments before. I take a deep breath, opening the door. Ryder stands there smiling, "Did I just se-"

Before he can finish, Vox pushes past him and out into the hall. She doesn't even glance at either of us.

"Vox!"

She ignores me, storming away.

I go to follow but Ryder stops me, eyes wide. He pushes me inside, shutting the door behind us.

"I have to go talk to her."

"No friend, you have to pretend whatever just happened never happened."

"What are you talking about, you're the one who-"

"She's marked, Gale. I looked. She's fucking engaged!"

"How did you know about that?"

"Gale, you have to let her go. She has to marry him."

_Just like Katniss_, my mind whispers. Images of Peeta and Katniss engaged come to mind. I feel sick.

The thought shocks me, seals our fate. I fight the urge to find her, to take her.

I nod, accepting that I can not change her fate, just as I couldn't change Katniss's. Vox will marry and I will be left behind, _again_.


	12. What Pierces

**Enjoy.**

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><p><em>(Vox)<em>

My fist sinks into the other girl's flesh and the room winces at the noise. I watch, convinced that Rita will make me pay for that, soon. Hawthorne stands to the side, with the other trainers, nodding in approval.

He's barley spoken to me since our talk last week and I've refused to acknowledge how much he hurt my pride.

Rita charges and I duck.

The scene plays through my mind as Rita circles me, smiling like a dog playing with it's toy. Gale's words play back.

"_It meant nothing. I was on my way to find Johanna and you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time."_

"_It did not feel like you were looking for someone else."_

"_You misinterpreted. I don't feel that way about you."_

"_My mistake…Cousin."_

The kiss had been… better than I could ever imagine. But more than that, the kiss was my first since being an Avox. I had agonized for some time, wondering if I'd ever kiss another man, worrying how it would suffer from what I'd lost. But in that moment, kissing Gale, none of the worries had come to mind. It had been so long since I've felt that wanted, that needed.

Despite, being completely overwhelmed, a shimmer of hope had wormed it's way into my heart. Hawthorne meant something to me and until that kiss, I hadn't realized how much I wanted him.

His brush off and harsh words however, had quickly killed that hope. To say I felt like a stupid schoolgirl was overstating it. I was disappointed, mortified, embarrassed and above all, I was pissed, pissed that he made me feel like this, pissed that I'd had hope- no matter how fleeting.

Since that morning, we had taken to train with the other Grinds, something that Gale had been hesitant to do since my sparring was so weak.

Rita ducks down, swinging her legs beneath me. Distracted, I fall to the floor, on top of her. We rool and with anger fueling my moves, I pin her. My forearm presses against her throat. "Tap out," I say.

She bucks beneath me, trying to throw me off. I dig my arm deeper against her neck. "Sumbit."

Rufus, the general trainer barks out a command, "Don't be stupid, Rita. She has you."

Rita taps the mat and numbly, I realize I've won. Blood drips from my nose and my left eye is swollen, but the victory is anything but empty.

I glance toward Gale, who is standing there, frowning at me. Rita sneers, "I'm feeling parched Avox, go get me some water."

Rufus snorts, "Rita. Wise up- Vox's skills are above yours."

I watch Rita's face flare red and worry that winning this match may kill me. He barks another command and I make a move to stand next to the other Grinds. Gale's eyes burn into me from across the room, but I wipe away the blood, choosing to ignore him.

"you are like, my hero right now," Cair whispers and I smile around the blood.

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><p>The next week we choose weapons. I try the bow but it is too large and I am too clumsy to shoot straight. Gale looks relieved when I put it back on the table, but he says nothing. Next, I pick up the club, the axe and the knives. I'm convinced I am not brave enough to sink the weapons into flesh, so I place each one back on the table.<p>

Gale hands me another weapon, electrified darts. The darts take practice but after some time, I get the shooting down. They suit me well as they merely incapacitate and can be shot from a distance away. Gale nods as I finally get the aim down, but I ignore his approval and the happiness it causes within me.

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><p>The blow catches me while I am asleep. I wake, stunned and dazed, only to be knocked back again. I try to push myself up, only to realize something is holding me down. The room is too black to see anything. I am elbowed in my face and this time pain blooms throughout my body. My nerves light on fire as I struggle to push the weight away. A hand muffles the cuff, drowning out all sound, as my hips buck and my legs kick.<p>

Someone leans down, whispering in my ear. A blade touches the skin on my hand. "Let's see what else we can cut off, _hm_?"

Rita's voice sends terror through me. The knife splits the skin above my knuckle, then raises to cut across a cheek bone. I will my mouth to make noise, for my voice to return. Nothing comes out except soft exclamations, nothing loud enough to wake anyone in the room. Rita hits me again and this time I'm sure I loose consciousness for a moment. I awake to a blinding pain in my left hand. I scream, but nothing comes out. I push and pull and try to break free. The cutting continues and the pain threatens to make me faint. I fight it, willing myself to survive. Not knowing what else to do. I lean forward and bite down on some piece of flesh. She shrieks, pulling away, I roll over, falling from the bunk. The knife clatters next to me and I grab it just before someone grabs my arms from behind.

"Are you okay?" the whisper calls out and I realize it is Harrison. Pain from my hand nearly blinds me. I start to answer him before I realize again, he is not speaking to me. Through the darkness I hear Rita answer. "You were supposed to hold her, you fool!"

He shakes me, bending my arms behind me tighter. "I was de-wiring her Cuff." He leans donw, whispering to me, "It doesn't work sweetheart." Pain and anger burn inside me. The knife is still gripped in the right hand. The left hand brushes against the front of Harrison and It feels like it may lay in shreds. It burns like I have dipped it in flames. I breathe, fighting to remain conscious, waiting for Rita to come closer.

She does and through the darkness I can hear her smile. "poor Avox" she whispers. "And you actually thought you were better than me."

My hands ache and my blood is dripping down my face. I grip the knife, lifting it toward Harrison. I lean forward, bring the knife up and lean back, putting my weight behind the blow. It sinks into Harrison's gut and I hear him grunt. Stirring from some of the other bunks begin to occur. I ignore them, convinced Rita will kill me if she gets the chance.

"_Harrison_?" Rita whispers.

I spin, pulling the knife from his stomach and turn to face Rita as Harrison stumbles back in shock.

She comes toward me and I grab her shoulders, holding the knife against her throat. It kisses her skin and when she moves I dig it in deeper. She whines just as a light turns on in the room. I am frantic, bleeding and completely lost when someone stands in front of me.

"HELP ME!" Rita whines

The blade digs into her throat harder and she screams. A girl I don't know stands before me and I'm torn between protecting myself and keeping the blade on the one I hold. "V? What happened!" the girl asks.

A large man takes the scene in with horror eyes, he glances at the body on the floor and then the knife against the girls throat. "Someone get Hawthorne!"

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><p><em>(Gale)<em>

The hall streams by as I run to the Grinds dorms. Jace is leading the way, frantically rattling on something about Vox and _he is dead_. I am frantic but above all I am scared.

I swing through the doors, taking in the disarray. Each of the beds are empty and light floods the room. The furthest bed's mattress is tipped off of it. Jorr and Tank stand next to a body of a boy. Blood pools around him and my fear grows. Beyond them, Cair stands hands spread apart as if worried to startle someone. That is when I see her. Vox is wild eyed, standing behind Rita, holding a knife to her throat. At first, she is unrecognizable. Blood and bruises line her face. One eye is completely swollen shut. A line of blood colors her cheek with a flap of skin hanging from it. Her left hand, though, is by far the worst. She makes it into a fist and blood is gushing from it. It looks mangled.

Rita looks scared and as Cair turns to me I see worry in her gaze.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. We woke up to fighting."

I look toward Vox and see no recognition in her gaze. I glance at Harrison's body, realizing he is dead and my worry grows.

"Help _me_, She' crazy!"

"Vox," Her eyes lift toward me but she digs the blade into Rita's throat, blood wells at the tip.

"Put the knife down." She shakes her head, frantically. I'm sure she doesn't recognize me.

"She attacked me!" I ignore Rita.

"Vox, it's Gale. Come back. You're safe."

Her head tilts and I'm worried she wont come back from this. The blood lining the knife and clinging to her fingers tells me she's stabbed the other Grind.

"Come back to me Vox."

A shudder works its way through her as the knife drops and she pushes Rita forward. The girl makes a startled sound and runs toward the boy's body.

Vox slumps to the floor as I walk toward her. The knife falls and I stash it in my belt.

"Harrison!" Rita cries.

"Quiet. Cair, go get Ryder and Banks. Tank, put a sheet over Harrison and Jorr don't let Rita leave. I'm taking her to medical, I'll be back"

I lift Vox, and smooth down bits of her white flyaway hair. Blood clings to some of the strands and my anger grows.

She's shuddering and I realize I'm muttering things to her. "you'll be okay. I know you didn't mean to. You're fine, little bird. Stop shaking, I'm here."

She hides her head in my neck and I make it to the infirmary just before she passes out.

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><p>Surgery on Vox's hand and face takes hours. The doctors come back saying that one finger couldn't be salvaged. It had been cut cleanly through and then broken at the bone. Her face was stitched and was drained for fear of loosing her eye. I speak to Banks and Rita they jumped Vox. My anger for her nearly makes me strangle her. I return to Vox before I do something I regret.<p>

When Ryder visits, I am seething and stewing in self-pity.

He stand silently next to me, staring down at a sleeping Vox. "She's stronger than we thought."

I scowl. "She shouldn't have had to be."

"You couldn't have prevented this."

"I put her in the class. I set her against Rita."

"Just as you should have. It's part of training, Gale. Your feelings shouldn't have affected that"

"It was my feelings that put her in the group spar! I knew it was a bad idea, but because I was too weak to spend three hours alone with her I stuck her in there with a bunch of kids ready to kill each other."

Ryder sighs deeply. "she's not your girlfriend, she's your Grind. She's meant to be trained."

"No," I turn toward my friend in anger, "she's meant to be married, like a pawn. Nothing has changed."

Ryder glances around nervously, "Carful, friend. That sounds dangerously close to treason."

And in the silence of the infirmary, I say the words I decided the moment I saw her wild eyes tonight.

"I wont let her go. I'm not letting them marry her off."

Ryder looks confused for a moment but then frowns sadly toward me. "She's not Katniss, Gale."

"No," I glance toward her on the bed, stitches lining her cheek, white hair messed across her face. "She's not."

Ryder frowns but after a moment he looks sheepish. "I was the one to break into Banks' office."

"what?"

He shrugs, "I wanted to know who she was," he nods toward Vox, "make sure she wasn't sent to get to you."

"And?"

"You need to ask her about her father, Gale. If you're serious ask her."

The topic hadn't come up much, I admit. She had always been unwilling to share that part of herself, of course the curiosity would sometimes linger. Ryder looks like he wants to say more.

"What it is?"

"Ask about her dad and." He pauses, "ask her about Finnick."

The name surprises me as does the jealousy coursing through my stomach. "_Odair_?"

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><p><strong>The last few chapters need some glossing but oh, well. I will get to them.<strong>


	13. What Awakes

I'm sorry it has taken me so long. I've just started law school and have had no time to write. I am re-committed to this story especially and I will be trying to finish it fairly quickly.

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><p>The lights is blinding and my eyes ache to close as soon as they open. I am here and still I am nowhere. Sleep eats away at my consciousness. I need it. A feeling of dread eat's at me, some sadness shadows my mind but I cannot quite touch it. Three shapes stand near my bed. Warmth spreads. I am protected. I am not alone.<p>

They each smile in return. One shape has three eyes, I think this looks funny and laugh. It smiles in return and it's finger's feel warm and hard, I must be touching them to know this.

"Sleep now," the shape whispers. "sleep little bird. I will not leave you."

Of course it wont. It loves me, I think before sleep reclaims me.

Days, hours or years later I wake up to a dull throbbing in my hand. Someone sits in the chair beside my bed and it takes a moment for the haze the clear. Gale is there, shadows playing across his face. I wish to lean over and trace those shadows with my fingers. I smile, thinking of how fond I am of this face.

"Vox," he asks unsure.

I smile.

"How are you feeling?" The throbbing continues a few more times and I notice I am looking at him mostly through one eye. How did Gale get in my room?

"We're in the hospital. You were attacked."

_Attacked. _ The flash of a knife, and searing of cut flesh comes back to me. I think of the blood he lays in, the white of his dead eyes. Suddenly, I feel nauseous. The room spins as someone walks into it, making it tilt more wildly.

Gale stiffens as Banks' stands above me, the spirits from his breath make me sicker.

"Congratulations!" the man beams. He steps back, patting Gale on the back.

"You've trained her well."

A muscle in Gale's jaw ticks. His fists clench together but he offers nothing to the man in return. Banks smiles. "I think she's ready."

What am I ready for? Sickness ebbs into my mind, I hold it back. I am brave. I am strong. I will not vomit in front of Banks.

Gales anger becomes physical. "She's not ready. She was fighting for her life."

The greasy man waves a hand. "You've wasted enough time already with her. She's ready Hawthorne."

Banks turns back toward me. He winks down at me and his black mustache tilts upward. "It's time to get you hitched."

Horror and sickness and panic spot my vision. I am sure I will pass out. I try to grip each side of the bed, keeping myself from strangling the man above me. The moment my left hand moves, agony ribs through my arm, I cry out. Gale pushes Banks aside and mollifies me. He turns back toward Banks, "she's just got out of major surgery, she's ready for nothing!"

He scoffs. "She's fine, Hawthorne. Doc put the magic recovery cilcone on her hand. Besides, the groom has a short window of time. He's nearly done touring the Old Districts right now and we want them to meet in one of the outer districts."

Banks looks back toward me, "no worries, Vox, It's all arranged. In two days time you'll meet in Old twelve, the last stop on your betrothed's journey. Hawthorne here will take you tonight and the wedding will be at the end of the month."

Something about twelve leaves my gut unsettleted but I am too out of sorts to remember. I am fighting the sickness, battling that vomiting on Banks may be worth showing weakness. My father's words replay in my mind. I am brave. I am brave.

I survived training. I can do this. I can survive this marriage. My breathing is becoming louder, coming out in ragged breaths and the monitor is beeping wildly. We all ignore the manifestations of my panic.

"I wont do it." Hawthorne speaks, "I wont take her. This marriage is against her will."

"This marriage is for the best interest of everyone, including Vox." Banks' eyebrows raise in an all-knowing gesture.

"I wont let you do this." Hawthorne stands very close to Banks, a direct challenge.

The larger man merely sneers. "You may have had some weight in the resistance, Hawthorne, but make no mistake, I'll throw you back in the ruins I found you in. You will take Vox, or I'll report the girl for wrongful killing of a fellow Grind and we'll start this process all over again with a new girl."

They stand at the end of my bed, so close their noses nearly touch. One shift of weight from either of them and a fight will erupt. I will not let another take my place. I will not let another be subjected to this." Painfully, I push the words out, hoping my VCuff has been fixed since Harrison- a stab of pain laces through me at the name- since it had been tampered with.

"No," It says, " I will go. I will marry whoever you want."

Gale turns toward me, anger and defiance lights each plane of the face I've become so fond of.

""Vox-"

"Quiet Gale," the words explode from the bracelet in such a nonchalance that his features clear.

"I wont make another girl suffer through this. I'm doing it."

He stiffens, huffs loudly and pushes his way out of the room.

The door clicks shut behind him. I wince at the finality in that single noise.

Banks smiles at me approvingly. "Right choice, girl."

I can barely breathe, spots eat away at my vision. I want to push up from the bed and strangle him, make him suffer as I have. I want to take the knife I buried into Harrison's flesh and rip apart the smirk which lines Bank's face.

"Who is he?"

He picks out a flask from his front tunic pocket. A gold sword emblazons the front of the spirit bottle. Banks takes a swig and grimaces, whether from the taste or the next words, I'm not sure.

"Paylor," he says and for a moment I'm horrified by the image of President Paylor's wrinkled neck. "You'll marry Dax Paylor. The future President of Panem."

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><p><strong>This needs editing but I am trying to get up a few more chapters before I gloss it all over.<strong>

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	14. What Strikes

**Hm. Not sure If anyone is reading this but I'm happy to be getting this story going again. I NEED TO FINISH this! no worries i'm not going to rush it :)**

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><p>It takes another many hours before the doctors discharge me. My eye is swollen and the stitches make my skin feel tight. They tell me that extensive surgery was preformed in order to save the function in my left hand. As it is, I lost my ring finger and will have many scars. The advanced serium, of course, helped speed healing, it should be nearly only scars in a few days time. I walk the halls, lost in thought and the memories of the night. I try to forget them, to forget the wildness I felt or the sheer terror as I watched Harrison's blood leave his body and soak his clothes. All I can see and feel now is red.<p>

I don't know where I am going, I merely walk and duck into ill-lit hallways whenever I see a human figure. Once, I think I spot Rita and my entire body freezes. It is not until I am four hallways aware, curled into a ball in a broom closet that I feel I can breathe again.

Banks' words come flog my mind, and the image of my future changes. Dax Paylor is a well-known political figure. He was only a boy when his father took over the disctricts and wasn't publisiczed much until the past few years. Since then, he's become a public icon, something for the masses to obsess over. The ads show a man who's a fighter, a charmer and an excellent diplomat. No doubt half of the women in the district would sell their souls to marry this man. I sure feel as if I have. I am not convinced whatsoever this person has any soul. What kind of man takes a wife who has been kept in a camp like a slave, groomed to fight like a tribute and offered on a platter like a whore.

Fire lights my blood and I decide to cease thinking of nothing I have control over. Instead, I think of nothing and everything all at once. In those moments, alone in the shelter of an unkown closet in an unknown hall, I think of Finnick, the second man I've ever loved- the man I'd once thought was the love of my life.

Do I not think that of him any longer? I loosed myself in confusion and memories for quite some time in that space. And there, within the darkness, I decide to let go of the man who never loved me with the equal force I felt for him.

Hours later I wipe my face clean of the tears and decide this is enough. Enough of the pity and fear. Enough of this doubt. I am brave, I remind myself. I have survived.

I make my way back through the empty hallways, realizing everyone must be in the hall for dinner. As I passed the sparring room, striking and curses echo from the depths inside. Somehow I know who is inside. As I push the door open, I find my instinct right. He stands there, in a grey-sweat soaked shirt and brown pants. I watch his lithe body as he reaches behind him for another arrow. His brown hands catch it between three fingers and deftly flip it above his muscled shoulder.

It lines up easily with the wire and he sights it, breathing deeply. His arm pulls back, body adjusting slightly.

It strikes me how right he looks doing this; how natural his body moves in this activity. This is Gale. I watch the arrow leave the bow and strike just an inch from the bullseye. I'm impressed but Gale is not as he curses loudly.

I watch myself, completely devoid of any intelligent thought, come behind him and lay a hand on his back, marveling on the lines of his muscles which show through the thin shirt.

He tenses but doesn't turn around. A moment passes and I can no longer take this type of silence between us. I push the words down to the cuff. "I have no choice."

He doesn't move, doesn't even breathe and I'm worried he's close to exploding. I drop my hand and back away lamely. I shouldn't have touched him, I think, remembering his words about never wanting me. _I don't feel that way for you, Vox_

They cut like Rita's knife across my skin. A foolish part of me wishes to cut him back, make him feel just as foolish. "I'm to marry Dax Paylor."

He turns, furious and for some strange reason, I'm just as furious. The emotion comes from absolutely nowhere and engulfs me. In two moments I am on fire, wishing to burn everything between us.

"Oh, so it's okay, now that you're future husband will make you rich and famous!"

The cuff responds quicker than the words even can form, "Don't be ridiculous! I could care less-"

He comes dangerously close, snarling at me, "and I'm sure it helps that he's not so bad on the eyes!"

" How dare you! You think I want this?"

"Well, you sure seem to be on board with it since Banks name dropped the most eligible bachelor in Pane-"

"This is AGAINST MY WILL! It's your people that are making me do this!"

"…After all, you're last lover was the same kind of man! All show and glamour and a pretty face, no true love or affection. If you made that work anything's possible..."

"What are you-"

"-It's pathetic actually, Every one in Panem knew Finnick was only in love with Annie!"

My hand snakes out and strikes across his face before I can think.

I don't care that he knows about Finnick. All my mind registers are his words. Each insult digs into my flesh, searing away my self-concept. I want to punch him, I want to push him to the ground and kiss him. I want him to admit he feels something or maybe I don't. Maybe I just want anyone to admit that they feel something for me over another. For Bryk it was any girl, for Finnick it was Annie and for Gale it's Katniss or Johanna. With all my pain and pity and doubt, his words fall like rocks inside of me. I feel empty and alone. Gale is right. I am pathetic.

"You're one to talk. _Cousin_."

Anger still lights Gale's face as I shove past him. leaving the room.

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><p>I'm lost and numb by the time Im back in front of the dorm. I linger outside, fighting back my rapid pulse and the memories that lay inside. I wonder if the blood is all gone and decide how foolish that thought is. I want to stay outside but would rather not miss the hovercraft and be forced to stay another night in this room. Composing myself, I push it open to find it empty. Suddenly, I lifted off my feet by two strong arms. I thrash out and began to hyperventalate just as Cair's screams penetrate my fog-filled brain. "Jeeze! Tank sneaking up behind someone who was just attacked is the dumbest freaking!" "PUT HER DOWN!"<p>

Tank sets me gingerly down and surveys my face with a grimace. 'I'm sorry, are you oaky." I focuz on the eagle tattoo of his neck. I start to count the feathers there to control my breathing and nod weakly. A moment later, I am not shaking and he pulls me into a softer hug. "You look rough," he mutters against my neck. I pull away and smile genuinely at him, fighting back the sadness which leaks into my bones.

I wonder if I will ever see them again.

Cair smiles sadly back. Hawthorne just ran into us in the hall, he said you're leaving. Jorr throws an arm around her, hapharzadley, "He said to tell you to pack and report to his room immediately."

I fight back the anger at whatever he thinks he'd get accomplished by that. Instead of listening, I decide to pack slowly, taking my time and saying slow goodbyes to each of my new friends. Tank hugs me plenty and tells me that If I ever need him to send word. As Jorr hugs me he promises to take care of Cair. Cair's goodbye is last. She walks me all the way to the tunnel where the hovercraft waits before lapsing into a complete silence. It is perhaps the quietest two minutes I've ever spent with the girl.

"Hawthorne told me who you're marrying. He said He'd take my rank if I told anyone," she chuckles, " Of course, I didn't tell him you'd already told me about the forced marriage bit, but I think i pulled off the outraged friend act pretty successfully."

I smile at her, remembering her scar, wide shoulders, red hair and trying to freeze this feeling of fondness I have for her. She steps a little closer and fold me into a hug. It seems less sentimental and ore functional hoewveer, when she begans to frantically whisper in my ear. "There's the peace rally in a months time, you're boy is highranking enough, he and you are bound to be there. Meet me a the third flag pole beneath the eagle. If he's a brute and you want to runaway we'll figure something out then." She pulls away. Tears threaten to spill over my lids. I'm touched that she has even thought of this and a part of me feels a little less alone. "Be happy, Okay?"

All I can do is nod despite feeling like the chances of happiness are far out of my grasp.

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><p>needs editing. sorry will do it<p>

review!


	15. What Reveals

**I am getting a lot of this story done.**

**Hope you like it.**

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><p>They pack us into a hovercraft in which spots of rust have eaten away at over time. The air inside is chilled, almost as frigid as the glares Hawthorne keeps throwing my way. He throws our bags into the cabin and begins to walk down some hallway. I am frozen to the spot, unsure If I should follow him or where the hallway leads. I have not felt this alone in a quite some time. All at once, the feeling of being lost threatens to choke me. I am fighting back useless tears when Gale stomps back in the room. "Coming?!" he barks out.<p>

I follow and try not to feel affected by his anger. I know this is more than just our words earlier or my decision to marry Dax. We are headed to Twlece, Gale's home. To him, it is much more than just a land of ruin and rubble. This district is where his nightmares live. A part of me softens momentarily toward him. I foolishly wish to reach out, to trace a finger across the shadows that line his face and kiss away his worry. The privlage is not mine to do. Gale is not mine. He does not feel the same for me as I him. Green eyes and a sly smile play across my mind. I will not make this mistake twice. Instead, I turn to look out the window and ignore my churning of emotions.

Sometime during our flight, the rest of the crew joins us. I am displeased to find Helix among them. The man looks every bit as sloppy as he did upon our first meeting. Another of them is a large blonde man and a woman with hair the color of soot. They sit in various spots around the cabin and I try to become enamored with some cloud that we pass.

"What are the chances meeting you here," Helix cooes in my direction. The chances are very good. No doubt my name was on the top of the his orders. I say nothing. Gale sits across the cabin mostly grunting in response to the blonde man's questions. Helix plops beside me. "Off to meet your bethroted, eh?"

"It's a shame, we could have been something great." He lifts a hand as if to finger a piece of my hair. I hear Katniss' name flow from the conversation across the cabin. Gale barks out, "Everyone leave, now," causing Helix to freeze mid reach.

My eyes connect with Hawthornes and fire burns there. I am not sure who he s angry with, myself, the blonde or Helix. They rise and leave, shooting cautious glares toward Hawthorne. "sorry about them," the woman chuckles, "their as thick a pile of rubble." She leave without another word and the silence stretches between us.

Unable to stand it, I form the words and push them towrd the Cuff, "Nothing to say?" I ignore the irony of that sentiment.

His eyesbrows lift. "Nothing you'd like to hear."

"Try me."

His eyes burn with a challenge. I will myself to not look away.

"Fine. Tell me who your father is, Vox."

I stare. Caught in my own silence.

"Tell me who he is to the Capitol, What blood stains your legacy?"

"He is dead," I supply.

"Many of them are. Good riddens"

Fire burns through me. I clench my hands, which shoots a pain through my left arm. The pain is welcome. I use it to hold onto the shreds of my temper.

"Was he an advisor? No, you carry yourself much too important for that..." "... A war general? " He stares doubtfully toward me. "You certaintly don't fight like it."

I chew the inside of my cheek. I refuse to react.

"You say Seta was a baker's daughter, any official too high ranked would rarely allow you to befriend someone so common." I fight back the memories. _His threats, My insolent yelling that he could not tell me who my friends were._ It was the first time I had seen his eyes turn so cold, the first time he truly terrified me.

"Maybe the legacy isn't your father's? Maybe you're mother is why you're here." It feels like he is ripping me open, laying me bare for all to stand over and pick apart. Gale's anger only grows. "Answer me!" He barks. "WHO ARE YOU!" By the time he's finished, breath leaves him in short drags. His scowl and huffed out, "forget it." is all it takes for my hold on my temper to dissapear.

"FINE!" the cuff belows, in a volume I hadn't thought possible." My father was a gamemaker, and despite you're misinformed, ignorant positions on that career, that's not why I'm here."

Something in his face goes slack and he looks horrified.

"A gamemakers daughter would barley warrant all of this." I throw my arms wide, pointing to the battered but still functioning hover craft. "My father's legacy is not what got me here. You were right, Gale." I glare and for a moment, I'm sure I hate him for making he speak this, for making me hate myself in this moment. "I'm here because of my mother , or rather, my mother's father's. I'm sure you've heard of my grandfather. His name is Cori. Short for Cornelious. You know him better as President Snow."

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><p><strong>Review.<strong>


	16. What Gathers

**Review**

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><p>Emptiness and anger lay between us like a palpable thing. I picture Cori, remember how much I loved him as a child, remember the smell of rust on his breath. I remember his anger, the detached manor in which he ordered my tongue to be cut out. Family meant nothing to a man who was capable of sending away his own daughter. I later found out he poisoned her. <em>The strongest are never weak<em>. He'd used to say that occasionally. It was until I learned so many truths the extent to which he'd go to live in such a manor.

Gale looks as if I'd taken a blade and stuck it through him. Outrage was one of man emotions he displayed. "It's not possible."

I shrug. I am here. There is nothing impossible about it.

"You're family are monsters."Cori is most definitely a beast, one who became large and more real over time. Gale knows nothing of my father. My father was merely a pawn in all of this, falling in love with the wrong girl, and being forced into a job he loathed. A defensive surge for him fuels my anger.

"And what are you, Gale? How many people did your weapons killed."

He stumbles back, and I know I've struck a chord. I'm too numb to care. "how many families have you ruined. My father and I had no choice in our decisions."

"He was a gamemaker. They thrive on chaos! They perpetuate the bloodshed of the games."

"You're design was made to draw the most amount of carnage. So tell me, who thrives on blood!"

"GET OUT." He screams and my entire body shakes with unspoken anger. I want to punch him, to hurt him. Every part of my body aches with this shame and pain. Like a child, I wish to cause him the same, "You're a coward Gale. And it's time you to take responsibility for what you've done."

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><p>District Twelve is a graveyard of rubble and ghosts of structures. Bricks and wood pile up around the city and a sense of uneasiness coats the air. Gale has not spoke a word to me since our argument some hourse before. I have decided I no longer care. I ignore him as he stomps ahead of me through the town square. As we weave through the rubble, I spot a single line of houses. They stand alone far down the block, looking misplaced among the destruction. Gale turns away from the area and we begin down a muddy path next to a large forest. With each step, I become more agitated with him. Unwilling to speak the first word, I merely glare daggers at the back of his head.<p>

When we pass one particularly destroyed point of town, an uneasiness grows inside of me. My eyes find a bloody handprint marking the smooth wood of what was once a door. Gale points at the dismay, sneering, "You're family is responsible for this."

My temper snaps and I push him hard from behind. He stumbles and nearly looses his footing on the path. He snarls at me not to touch him and for a moment I am immaturely gleeful.

We walk a few more steps and I push him again, watching this time as he slips and falls to the ground. I immediately feel guilty and reach down to help him up. "Dont," he snaps.

"Fine. then don't pretend I am not here! You're treating me like the Avox!" the words form and slip out the cuff before I can sensor myself. He understand's my agitation, that I lived with being ignored for years in my life. Gale's face softens a fraction. "I'm not. It's not just you."

He struggles. "I can barley stand being here."

"I know," I say, because I do. I know he never wished to return here. And my behavior, my words in the craft, have only made this harder.

I open my mouth to apologize and Gale cuts me off, holding up a hand.

"Just, don't, please." His eyes close and he breathes deeply. "I cant handle this. I just need to not be okay with this.. I'm not okay in this place.."

I nod. Willing myself to not care. "Let's just go," he says

My face turns questioning. _Where are we going?_

"home," he says.

The path twists and winds up to a house which sits beside a hill. It is small and made entirely of stone. Gale pushes open the door and is engulfed in the arms of a slender woman. From her dark hair and bright eyes, I decide she if Gale's mother. More smaller children run up, taking their turns to hug and kiss Gale. A boy, older than the others, storms out the back door. Gale and his mother share a worried look that I do not understand.

"we've missed you so much," she says. He introduces me and she smiles warmly. I am taken with her immediately.

"The sullen one is Rory. He's not feeling well."

I nod assuming that Rory feels just fine.

Gales mother serves us soup and asks him about the past three years. He mostly mumbles one-word answers. She teases himand ruffles his hair like he is a child. I cannot hide my smile at her affection. I have spent my entire life longing for such warmth from my mother.

When Rory returns, he glares at Gale and I. Three thin scars pucker up on Rory's left arm. His hair is the same color as Gales but he stands half a foot shorter. Mrs. Hawthorne introduces us and Rory sneers in my direction. "She's not nearly as pretty as Katniss, Gale."

The chair scrapes violently back as Gale stands and pushes Rory out the open door. Mrs. Hawthorne puckers her lips and avoides looking toward me. My cheeks heat with embarrassment. Her hands shake as the sound of grunts and flesh hitting flesh make their way inside. We broth pretend not to hear it. "Boys," she chuckles.

"Gale told me you dislike the Vcuff but I'm curious If I can ask you a few questions?"

I smile and nod me answer.

"Is he a good instructor? Did he teach you a lot?"

I nod to both questions. She smiles.

"Is he, I mean, does he seem happy?"

_Is Gale happy?_ I think back to the shadows which used to live on his face, the way he seemed barley alive, then. Has he changed since then? Or Have I simply changed my view towards him? I nod, to appease his mother and to reassure myself.

"Does he have...anyone?"

She fiddles with a wooden spoon as she asks, and I'm unsure whether she means a lover. Memories plague my mind,_ the feel of him in my arms, his lips aagsint my skin, how easily he lifted me against the door_. I am sure my face is turning scarlet as blood rushes to my cheeks.

"Friends, that is?"

I nod, pushing away the embarrassment I feel.

"Has he moved on at all? I'm sure you know about Katniss." Something lingers in her gaze, which I choose to ignore. I glance toward the window, as the sound of grunt turns my stomach. For some ridiculous reason, I want to go to him, to make sure he is okay.

"I'm sorry to make you ubncomfrotable, I'm sure it's not your place to know such things." She doen not look sorry at all and Something tells me Mrs. Hawthorne is just as observant as I am.

She smiles, "I'm sorry. I'm not sure if it's rude to only ask you yes or no questions."

I shake my head. It's a common mistake, but not rude. Although, i'd rather not use the Vcuff in the small cabin. It feels so out of touch with the cozy environment that I'd much rather stay silent.

"I can tell he cares for you." I'm not sure whether she's right after our conversation earlier. The granddaughter of the most hated man in the capitol is not something so easily forgotten.

We are still talking when Gale and Rory trudge into the cabin an hour later, covered in dirt and blood. Some of the anger between them seems to have dissapaited but neither looks satisfied. Rory, holds his left arm gingerly and a yellow bruise forms on his jaw.

He nods towards me as a sort of apology and I feel compelled to nod back. Nothing he said was untrue. I cannot fault him for his beliefs.

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><p><em>Hands hold me down. Fingers splay across my throat. A knife digs into my stomach and the blood coats my clothing. Air does not come. Something cuts off my oxygen .I fight to breathe. He smiles and it is a cold, mirthless thing. My stomach lurches as he leans down. Spirits tickle his breath. He will kill me. I am sure of it. Hudson smiles, digging the blade deeper. I will die.<em>

Air slams into my lungs. I sit up. Shivers rack my body. My hands search blindly, fighting off the blade that digs into me. They find only air. I am alive. I am alone. I breathe deeply. The air drags in like fire. I fear I may pass out. When I control myself enough I know I will not sleep for hours. Longing for air, I slip out of the bed and tiptoe out my door. Voices carry out of the kitchen and I pause, straining to undefined if tthey had heard my dhysterics.

"-ale. I've seen you two together. You're in love with her."

More words of Katniss. I don't wish to hear any of this. I am a hopeless fool.

"you don't know what youre talking about."

"Don't I? Is that why you pummled Rory when he spoke against her?"

I realize stupidly they are talking of me. Gale has gone to great lengths to know his lack of attraction toward me. Words of "you were just convenient" play through my mind.

"It was a rude thing to say."

"You're every bit as stubborn as your father."

"I'm responsible for her, that's all.

"Don't let this happen again, Gale. You need to do something to stop this."

"It's complicated, you don't know who she is-"

"She's not her family, Gale and the girl has been through so much. I can see you care for her, don't deny it. Just try to follow your heat."

"That hasn't done so well for me in the past."

"If there is anything I could tell the moment I met her it's that she's nothing like Katniss."

Mrs. Hawthorne is right. The mockingjay is fierce and imposing. She did not cower. I didn't think it possible to feel so much dislike and admiration for the same person at once.

Not willing to hear anymore, I push away try to forget about the girl on fire

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><p>The market is alive the next day, full of people and peddlars. Their clothes are ragged but each of them appear light. A man plays music on a sitar from a high perch and it echoes through the market. Something in me feels lighter as Gale's mother explains the best herbs to create onion soup. Gale disappeared into the wood much earlier in the day. With or without him, I am determined to enjoy my last day of freedom.<p>

I spot a hoop on a tray of a jewelry stand that's a bright copper. It looks handmade and has flaws within the metal. I find myself enamoured with the divots pounded into it. I begin to buy it when a hard force shoves me from behind. Hands clasp onto each of my biceps to keep me from pitching into the table. A loud voice exclaims, "Watch it, _blondie_," as spirits fill the air between us. The man is a blonde himself: dishevled and clearly drunk. His clothes are tattered and the flask in his hand is stamped of the same copper as the hoop I'd been admiring.

He smiles down at me, "'Hells bells, am I in the capitol?"

Gales mother comes up behind me. She smiles at the man. "Morning Haymitch."

His eyes unfocus for a moment as he stares at the hand she has placed on my shoulder. "Who is this." He demands. Clearly this man is not one for tact. I say nothing as another man steps beside him. This one is solid and has similar blonde hair. His smile is warm and apologetic. I don't smile back at him, as he greats Mrs. Hawthorne and lets Haymitch lean against him.

I realize dumbly this is Peeta Mellark. The drunk next to him must be his mentor, Haymitch Abernathy. A bright smear of color clings to Mellark's cheek and I notice he stands awkwardly. Haymitch is far too drunk to be standing but I note a scar above his lip.

In truth, I would not have recognized them. I was never much interested in the games, but Cori made sure they always played in the Avox's quarters. Perhaps as a reminder of worse things than lost speech.

Mrs. Hawthorne introduces me as Gale's recruict from Grinda and both men's eyebrows raise into their hairline. Mellark is better as containing his shock.

"I didn't realize Gale was back," Peeta replies.

She nods. "for now."

Something passes across Mellark's face. The drunk Haymitch hiccups.

"He should go see her," he says eventually.

"He rufeses," Gale's mother replies.

Of course, they are speaking of Katniss Everdean. I think of the footage they showed at Grinda in war strategy. In the rebel propaganda she stood beside Gale. I was struck then by how right they looked together, both dark, lean and imposing. Mellark does not look like this. I see nothing impressive about this boy besides his ability to keep Haymitch upright.

He turns to me, realizing his manors. "I'm Peeta, Nice to meet you, Vox."

I nod, not returning the smile or sentiment. My manors do not matter to me. Haymitch chuckles, "it seems there are still girls unaffected by that charm, loverboy."

Peeta rolls his eyes. "Will you be staying long?"

I shrug, not caring to answer a question I don't wish to think of. Peeta rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.

Despite, Haymitch's state, he is sharp enough to notice the VCuff hanging from my wrist. "Nice bracelet," he remarks.

Mellark's eyes follow it and he looks slightly mollified. "Matches your leg well, eh Peeta?"

The boy's eyes come back to meet mine. Pity does not stand in the blue orbs, but rather understanding. He nods once, "Welcome to 12."

I nod back. As Mellark and Mrs. Hawthorne Exchange goodbyes Haymitch leans forward. His breath reaks of black liquor and it takes all my will to not shove him away. "My, my," he marvels, "so you're the one worth all this fuss."


	17. What Pacifies

**I was on a roll today. In fact, I'd really like to finish this by the end of the week. **

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><p>(G.P.O.V)<p>

The forest seems to fill my body and soul and I revel in how right it feels to be back here. I spend the entire morning lost inside their depths. Twice, I think I hear footfalls and catch myself turning, expecting to see Katniss running down the path. Each time I realize how truly long it's been since I've seen that sight.

Despite, the time, or the memories, I let myself get lost, truly lost, for the first time in years. I walk all the way into the deepest part of the woods and challenge myself by tracking to track my way back. I am smiling by the time I wind up back at the house beside the hill. I am have not felt this free in years. Something has been lifted off of me and with it, I am able to think clearly. As it had for the majority of the last few months, my mind turns back to Vox. I turn over each word we have laid against each other. My mother's words come back to me and I find it impossible to lay Snow's crimes onto Vox.

My decision is made far before I walk into the kitchen and begin to hear about their collective days. Vox and My mother stand at a counter, silently chopping away at ingredients. I am struck by how right it feels to have her here, in my childhood home, beside my mother. My mother tells me of their run in with Peeta and Haymitch and I glance toward a stone-faced Vox. My mother gives a meaningful look and continues to prattle on. Eventually, she orders us out of the kitchen, asking us to run by the market for some forgotten ingredient. Thankful for the excuse, we set off down the path. I pick a small detour through a wooded section of the Hobb. It is bound to give us more time to resolve what needs to be said.

I glance toward Vox, realizing she seems lighter and yet more pensive than she was last night. I remember refusing her apology yesterday and my own anxiety builds. Tomorrow Paylor will come and Vox will be gone. My mother is pressuring me to stay but I know with ever part of myself I would never be able to. The prospect of returning to Grinda seems just as grim.

Silence stretches between us, as it often does. This time, however, it is strained. I am not sure what to say but I know this needs to be mended. I will not let our last words to each other be spoken from anger.

She watches a bird fly above us and I lamely ask, "You met Peeta and Haymitch, then?"

She nods.

"What did you think of them?"

She shrugs and I worry this will not be easy.

Giving up all pretense, I say, "I'm sorry for what I said on the craft." I have never mastered apologies. "I didn't mean- well, I did. Snow was-" This was one of my worse off apologies. "You're not you're grandfather and I'm sorry."

She doesn't look at me. Instead, her eyes stay trained ahead on a spot far beyond. Her lips mash together as if tasting something poor.

"You're right, I'm not."

I nod. Not sure what else there is to say.

"Cori did terrible things. I never defended him. And I didn't choose him as my blood. I've told you about how frightened we were; the Capitol youths. I didn't know about the outer districts- what was done to them. But I knew about the games, about his control over everyone. Being his closest relatives put us under a microscope. One step out of line and My father and I would be instantly executed. Grandfather didn't have much patience for insolence."

I listen, absorbing each word and feeling even worse for what I yelled the day before.

"But still, I cared for him. And it wasn't until I refused to give up Finnick's secrets, that I stopped. The day I lost my speech, was the day I gave up on Cori."

O'Dair's name shoots something ugly through my stomach. I push aside the bloodlust, focusing on the conversation. "Banks said you're benefiting from this. Is it the status? The money?"

She looks at me and for a moment I think she will reach up to touch my face. Instead, she tucks a pale blonde strand behind her ear. "No. You're reaction should be telling enough. People will kill me when they find out."

"Most people don't know you exist. We can run away, no one will find you." I am as surprised as she is by the words that I've said. Every part of me wills her to agree, to say yes. I feel as if my future stands on a cliff's edge and it is not the first time I have felt as such.

Vox frowns. "Banks and Paylor will not let me. They threatened to hunt me down."

And just like that, the world settles back around me. Emptiness lingers somewhere deep inside my soul.

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><p>(V.P.O.V)<p>

We spend the next few hours beneath a tree in the outskirts of a forest. I have apologized to Gale for my words against him and forgiven him for his own. He has been patient, as I open myself up to him, I tell him the truth about Finnick and I, about Cori and my father. I feel raw and exposed before him. When I am done, he merely leans forward, dragging me into his lap. His arms wrap around me and I let myself feel safe for the moment. It is in this time, while my face presses agains his neck that he whispers to me, "you're not pathetic, Vox." I say nothing because I disagree, entirely. It is pathetic that I am too afraid to move a muscle, for fear he will push me away. It is pathetic that I'm afraid to leave him tomorrow. All I want to do is tell him how I feel and all I am able to do is sit here, frozen against him. "You're the bravest person I've met." I doubt this but continue to absorb his warmth. I am happy, in these moments, I am free.

When our muscles start to ache and The sun begins to dip beneath the sky, we uncurl ourselves from each other. Nothing is said as we make our way toward the market to pick up the ingredient. We find the stand and pay for it silently. As he puts the bulbous object in his bag, his hand brushes my own and a spark lights through me. As Gale says he needs to speak to someone about a goat, I remember the hoop I found at a nearby stand yesterday . We agree to meet up toward the path back to his house.

I purchase the earring and am nearly to the path when I see Gale speaking to a slight woman. She smiles up at him as a small boy clutches her hand. Gale glances around, looking anxious.

It is not until I am very close to them that I realize why. The boy has golden hair and eyes the color of the sea. The girl is willowy, made entirely of bones and dark, flowing hair. I instantly feel sick. In a haze, I stumbled the rest of the steps toward them. Gale introduces us and Annie Cresta begins to laugh. It is an odd gesture but the boy nor Gale seem troubled by it. I glance at the small child and feel like fire burns my lungs. He is an image of Finnick in everything but age. I watch as he tugs his mother's hand and my stomach drops to my feet as she calls him "Finn" and bids us goodbye.

Gale tries to speak to me on the walk home, but I am plague by the green eyes and the dead hope I once had for Annie Cresta's life.

It is not until later, beneath the stars that I realize the source to my distress. Gale is beside me and when I come back to myself, I realize how foolish I have been. "I gave him everything and it still wasn't enough. I was no match for her."

Gale smiles down as me, folding an arm around me. He pulls me to his side and murmurs words of condolences. He tells me how brave and strong I am; how Finnick was a fool; how proud of me he is. And then, under the night sky of Twelve, Gale tells me how much he will miss me, how I have changed him, and I let myself believe, if just for a moment, that he is mine.


	18. What Absolves

**Review**

**Short Chapter.**

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><p>In three hours time, I will be engaged to Dax Paylor. The distress the single thought causes me is enough to rival being thrown into the games. Every fiber of my body is against this marriage. The only place I wish to be is next to Gale.<p>

I am not as sure his feelings are the same. We spend all morning walking twelve. He points out the spots he used to jump the electrified fence and where he used to hunt. I ignore the surge of jealous as he points to the spot behind the school where he says he'd meet girls. I try to imagine him, so carefree and wild. Sometimes, I can see glimpses of this person, when we spar or run or play. Usually, I see the darkness that lingers on his skin like a shield.

We are near the neat row of houses I first noticed when we arrived when Gale makes a sharp turn left. I don't question it, choosing to let him distract me from what awaits my afternoon. When we pass a local bar, my curiosity gives in. "Does she live there?"

He knows I do not mean the bar.

"Yes."

I push the words out, form them even though I do not mean them whatsoever. "If you want to go see her I can meet you back at the house."

"I don't," he says simply.

"Gale. I know that is a lie."

"She blames me for her sister's death."

"Well, that's ridiculous," I snap. "You had no way of knowing the rebels would plant that bomb in the capitol, let alone near-"

He holds up a hand, "Just stop. I'm responsible. It was my design."

Because I will be gone in three hours and because I am selfish I let myself touch him. I lay a palm against his cheek, rubbing his dark whiskers. "You have to forgive yourself." He leans into my hand "I want to. When I'm with you I feel it's possible." I decide to drop it before I do something idiotic. Desperation claws at every part inside of me and I will make a fool of myself if Gale lets me.

"Besides," the words feel thick as I form them. "she's not married yet. There's still time."

It feels like the wrong thing to say. I hate that I've even brought the idea up. My stomach violently flips and I try to remember my own pending engagement.

Gale looks down at me confused and I'm not sure why. He shakes his head slightly. Vox…" We stare at each other and he takes a step closer as a throat clears nearby.

There, propped up in the doorway to the bar, stands Haymitch Abernathy and Katniss Everdean.


	19. What Drops

**Just because I want to finish this. I am posting these chapter without the finished editing I NEED.**

**I'm going to come back and gloss this all over later.**

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><p>Everdean's face is a mask of shock. Ugly scars cover both her arms and peak over the collar of her shirt and still, she manages to look stunning. Admirastion and jealously tumble in my gut.<p>

"Gale?"

Every inch of my body wishes for her to stop staring at him with such hope and concern.

"Clearly we're interrupting, Katnip." Both of them flinch and I am not sure why. Gale continues to study her face. I want him to be indifferent to her beauty, to say his hellos and walk away. He does neither.

"Hello, Katniss." He nods to the drunkard, "Haymitch."

She says nothing, instead taking the time for her eyes to lap him in like the starved do a fat piece of meat. Her perfect brown eyes linger on the chain around his neck and the tattoo creeping out from beneath his sleeve. He got that tattoo for her. I suddenly feel like nothing standing beside them both.

"You're back?" Clearly Peeta has not told her because she seems genuinely surprised.

"I'm here on orders." I am sure he says this to emphasize it was not his choice. He knows being here hurts her. I do not care so much.

She nods, looking momentarily lost. Haymitch stands beside her looking quite pleased with himself.

I notice her skin is paler than in the videos. She looks slightly unhealthy, but perhaps that is merely the scars doing. There is a ring on her finger made of black metal. It shines like a piece of coal. Her hair is loose and much longer than the pale locks which barley graze my shoulder. She is thicker than me but I have at least three inches in height on her. I have no doubt she could take me in a fight.

The thought is absurd and I realize I've missed some of their conversation.

"- bring you here?"

Gale glances toward me, for the first time since she's come upon us. I feel like sneering, _yes, still here._

"We're meeting up with Paylor."

Katniss' eyes leave his face and travel to me. It is the first time she has spotted me. I will myself not to pick at my clothes under her gaze. I wonder if she see's my resemblance to Cori; most don't.

Gale holds a hand toward me, "This is Vox. Vox, this is Katniss."

We survey each other some more. She lifts her lips in a polite gesture that does not reach her eyes. I merely nod.

"We should go," she says at last. As they begin to leave, I find myself desperate to speak to Haymitch. His words yeaterday have stayed in my mind. I want to know what he knows of me. I do not wish to use the VCuff in front of Katniss, but seeing how I have no time, I push aside my insecurity.

I form the words, wishing my own voice instead of a cold metallic one would call out, "Haymitch, a word?" Gale turns to me, surprised. Katniss clearly shares the sentiment, as her eyes seek out the band on my wrist. She glances back toward Gale as Haymitch teeters with me down the path.

I turn and it takes little encouragement for him to talk. The spirits on his breath, no doubt, are encouragment enough. "You want to know what I meant?"

I nod.

"The rebels have been planning this alliance for some time. They want to merge the two sides behind someone. Dax was the obvious choice for the rebels but the Capitol holdouts were much harder to appease. Dozens of girl's names were thrown about. Seneca Crane's niece was top in the running until someone brought up you."

Anger burns inside me and I feel sick. "Who?" I need to know who has done this, who has solidified my fate as easily as drawing my name out of the reaping bowl. My single-minded desire for the information feels consumingly important, far more important than Katniss and Gale, who speak heatedly in hushed tones down the path.

Haymitch smiles at me, and I know I will not like his next words. "I did," he says.

I react instictivley, striking out violently toward the old drunkard's face. I am satisfied to feel my flesh connect.

"Vox!" Gale starts toward us.

I land one blow as he swivels me around, "Easy, little girl."

"Haymitch, let the girl go," Katniss calls

He leans closer in my ear, "You have O'Dair to thank for that," he whispers.

Gale pries his hands off me.

"He knew you'd need protection if you were captured." At this point, Haymitch's volume has rose. Katniss and Gale stare stupidly between us.

"You'd be dead if not for me. Show a little gratitude, sweetheart."

Katniss hauls Haymitch away and I continue to shake for many minutes. Gale makes me tell him the old drunk's words and looks equally as murderous when I comply. He leads me back to his house in silence. I refuse to ask what was said between Katniss and himself. I spend many minutes convincing myself I do not care.

We are almost to the front door when it opens on it's own accord. Mrs. Hawthorne stands there looking unsure at our entangled hands. Gale lets go just as three men walk about behind her. Among them, stands Dax Paylor, my husband-to-be.


	20. What Severs

**Okay, that's it for tonight. I promise! (probably) ha.**

**Review.**

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><p>Dax is taller than Gale, made entirely of ropey muscles and blonde hair. His eyes are slightly too far apart and he needs a good shave. He wears the green uniform of a top ranking officer. The sleeve of his shirt is frayed and his pants are wrinkled. His shoes are far too shiny to have seen any true combat. There is no denying he is beautiful. But mostly, I find him plain. We are introduced and the entire time I train my eyes to meet his. I refuse to look toward Gale. The other men are introduced as Jack and Hollis, his two childhood friends. Their smiles come easier and more genuine. When Dax holds a hand toward Gale I am momentarily worried he will not take it. My fears are abated when Gale returns the gesture and he makes some remark about Gale's war efforts.<p>

We grab my things and say our goodbyes to the Hawthornes. When Gale's mother hugs me, she whispers I should follow my heart. I nod and thank her for taking me in. Dax says something flattering to her as I stand before Gale. He shakes his head, insisting on accompanying us into town.

We are to leave Twelve immediately, heading back for Panem. I am terrified to return home, terrified to be alone with strangers. Most of all, I am terrified to leave Gale.

We make the walk into town as Dax chats happily about his travels. I try to listen and not feel like I'm making a death march. As we get near the craft, Gale captures my hand and rubs three tiny circles into my palm. I fight back tears. When we reach the craft, Dax thanks Gale for taking such good care of me, he smiles and leaves us, allowing our time to say goodbye.

I am suddenly frozen to my spot; Gale stares hard into my eyes. "I should be saying to be careful, to remembering your training, to try to be happy." He lowers his voice, "But I can't let you go without saying this. I can't do this again-" I watch his hands shake as he gathers mine into them. "Meet me at the Peace Rally in two weeks time. If you love me- even if you don't- Meet me and I'll take you away from all of this. We can live in the woods. I'll protect you, Vox."

Someone from the craft calls my name and I'm too dumbstruck to do or say anything as he quickly wraps me into a hug and then shoves me toward the entrance. The last sight I se as the craft takes off, is Gale, pressing two fingers to his lips and holding them up to the sky.

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><p><strong>short and not-so-sweet<strong>

**Review anyway.**


	21. What Transforms

Law Finals and break are over. I am working to finish this story.

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><p>The world around me is bright metals and neutrals. Some archaic crest is singed into every open table top. I am placed on a thread-bare console and immediately forgotten. People scramble around the cabin, smiling speaking amongst each other. I am a statute in the chaos, stuck to the seat as if roots have grown beneath me. Someone sits across from me followed by two more. I fight to ignore their gazes.<p>

Dax is the one across from me. He cleers his throat. "How are you feeling, then?"

_Numb. "_Fine."

He begins to talk with a compassionate expression. I stop listening to anything but the words burned into my mind.

_"if you love me." "Meet me at the peace rally,"... "If you love me."_

My mind twists and tumbles over the words. They are sludge and I am too thick to squeeze any meaning from them. _Does Gale love me?_ _He want's me to run away.  
><em>Where would we go? Did he say something about the woods? Nothing makes sense and yet, a hope burns through me. I can be free of this. I can spend my days away from a loveless marriage, under trees in Gale's arms. We can survive with eachother. Of course, survival is why I am here. If I turn down this marriage another poor girl will be forced to do the same. Running away from Gale puts both our lives at risk. The marraige is the only way to stay safe and keep another from taking this black-fate.

It is then that I remember the rest of his words;_ "I cannot do this again." _Katniss. This is not about me. Katniss was once forced away from him; forced to marry another. Gale is trying to protect me. As my mood blackens I remember everything he has spoke of her. The way his face would recede into shadows when her name was brought up. And again, in that alley of 12, I remember their hushes whispers; how desperate he looked.

Katniss will always be Gale's great love, just as Annie was Finnick's. Fear slides through me as a voice whispers I may still be able to have him. These thoughts are the same which kept me a broken woman each time Finnick left my bed for Annie's. I push them away. I will never again be second to another. I have already torn myself apart once for such a hopeless cause.

"- worked out."

The man I will marry is starring toward me. His face is patient and his voice is smooth. His teeth are brighter than the white's of his eyes and I cant help but wonder if they're artificial. I banish any thoughts of other men and focus on this man. He smiles politely toward me and a piece of blonde hair falls into his eyes.

The boy who sits next to me, Hollis, starts gesturing toward his friend.

"-lucky woman. Daxie, here, was named Panem's most elligible bachelor."

Paylor's other friend sits on his right. I watch his eyes darken.

Paylor flushes. "It was a ridiculous award. I'm sure father put them up to it."

"Dont sell yourself short, D-man, the ladies love you, don't they Jack?"

Jack sighs. "Of course." His eyes flit to me and I am sure he is not fond of what he sees.

"News of the engagement will break soon, it should take care of their obsession."

Jack stands. "Excuse me," he says before storming out the cabin door.

"Don't mind him," Hollis smiles. "He's strung tighter than the mockingjay's bow."

I dont laugh. Neither does Dax though I fear it's because he is incapable.

"I know you've been through quite a bit the past few years. Father has told me about your relation to Snow. I assure you it won't affect the way any of us treat you."

He seems to be quite proud of the fact, as if he is saving me and I owe thanks. I say nothing.

"...Our marriage will be for the good of the country. And I think," he smiles, "at least, I hope, that we'll get along."

_Get along?_ I decide that I have never heard a worse sort of marraige. I nod, unsure what else to do and turn my attention toward the landscape streaming outside. Running away sounds better with each passing tree.

The next few days I am prodded and poked and styled within an inch of my life. My hair is cut, fluffed and burned. I am stuffed and sown and measured for more clothes than I have worn in the past year. With each thing they change on me, I feel a peice of myself dissapearing. When the Frido, the plainest stylist I have ever met, demands I remove the hoops in my ear, I twist his arm behind his back. He quickly lets the subject drop. It is decided that the blue ink on my skin, the matching symbol which Seta once wore, must be removed. _"It makes you entirely too Capitol-born." _I let them laser it off and make no other objections as they debate whether to remove the one on my hips. The rest of the hours I spend receding into myself. I am no longer in a cold brick building outside of 5. I am under an oak tree. Strong arms are wrapped around me as a voice whispers an old song into my ear. I am at peace in these moments.

I am surprised to find my dislike toward Dax Paylor thinning with each day. He is a kind man with an easy smile and a dreadful sense of humor. On my second day he finds me wandering in the gardens and lectures me on the uses of each plant. I find the lesson dull, but let him talk. We attend countless functions together, though our engagement has not yet been announced. Mostly, we talk about his father's policies and my time spent learning politics many years ago. Nothing of significance is exchanged about our shared future together. In fact, Dax seems to pay little attention to me in such a capacity. It seems I am not the only one who has noticed, as with each passing day, my stylists stuff me into a more revealing dress. To their dismay, Dax's behavior has not changed. He smiles toward me and we dance when his father glares toward us but otherwise I find no sexual-interest in his gaze. The lack of attraction doesn't much bother me. In truth, I am so confused of my feelings toward Gale, I'm sure that I am projecting the same. With each passing day, I find the space in my life grow wider. The day does not feel the same without my dark-boy.

I shake away the thoughts as I walk down the path from the ugly brick fortress. At one point, It had been some type of compound for the resistance, but I find it the most hideouts structure I've seen. Flags project from every open window on the place, flying the Resistance Red beneath the symbol of a mockingjay.

I walk further, ignoring the immature jealously I feel. There is no way to compete with a girl who has flags erected after her. I walk further down a newly cleaned path. In a day's time, thousands will line these streets for the Peae Rally. The Grinds and Gale will be among them. I am so uneasy by the thought I decided to sit next to a rotted shed. I have mere hours to decide what I want. My eyes close and I picture the planes of Gale's face._ If you love me, Meet me At the Peace Rally. _He will be waiting for my answer and though I cannot go, for both fear of our safety and of the girl who'd be replacement, I find myself needing to answer a different question.

_Do I love Gale?_

Cori once told me that time is the true measure of power. At the time, I thought he had meant mechanics of the hour but perhaps he meant something else. In the time I have spent away from Gale, housed in a fortress of strangers, forced into clothes I no longer enjoy and fed with food I no longer taste, something has changed. A part of myself has been missing since leaving him in 12. Throughout the days, each time something occurs, I find myself wanting to tell him. Three nights ago, a general snorted soup through his nose and I had been gleeful at relaying the sight to Gale. It had taken only a moment to remember he was not there. I find myself occasionally thinking of his hands, or the way his hair stands in disarray. Gale is a mentor, a friend and something else._ Is that something love? _

The only way I feel I could know for sure is by comparison. I have been in love. With Finnick, it had been an all-consuming thing. My entire life had shifted, it's focus had become him and us. He occupied my body and mind for a short time before I had started to apply the sentiment. I had first known the night he'd left my bed for another. In those aganizing moments, my heart had been ripped apart. It had been one of the worst nights of my life, more painful than when Cori had me burned and beaten.

With Gale, it was different. His presence has become a cherished fixture in my life. When we're apart I think of his features, the way I feel with him, the tone of his laugh. Unlike before, I have not lost myself in what we have. Our intertwining hasn't been instant or effortless. Gale has gradually slipped into my life, as if he had belonged there all along. _Is that love?_

Finnick and I had been an inferno, raging up and going out with any shift of the wind. Each of us had been scorched by our relationship and until now, I had always equated that with love. _Was that wrong?_

he jealousy I felt toward them both seemed the same, like a beast clawing through my chest and lungs. Though, it had always held more of an edge of panic with Finnick .

_"If you love me,"_

_Did I?_

Are there shades of love? Why is it that what I feel for Gale is so different from how I felt with finnick? I cannot help but wonder if it is them. They are both so different from one another. The question trudges up more doubt and then it hits me, as if a bucket of cold water has been poured over my head. It is not their differences which makes this all so different, it is mine.

I am a different. I am the change. I am no longer foolish. I was a girl when I loved Finnick. I offered my whole heart to a man who did not love me and was surprised as he tore it apart. I have grown. I will never again let love consume me, take over who I am to better suit another. I am no one's consolation.

The way I have love has changed, but it does not make that love any less. It is in these moments beside a dilapidated shed, that I decide that I do love Gale Hawthorne. Just as quickly, I decide I cannot have him. I will not do this again. Because I am no longer foolish, I am brave.


	22. What Pleads

I apologize. these chapters need to be revised but i have no time and dont want to put off putting these up

Review.

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><p><strong>Gale P.O.V<strong>

People push and shove as the crowd thickens around different booths in each lane. Flags of red line each street, peace-keepers in brown uniforms stand in clusters, keeping the mob in line. Ahead, hundreds are gathered around a stadium. It stands 100 feet above the people and is lined with men in green suits. The highest of the officials will stand there, along with their families. Vox is there.

I push closer, trying to find a way to gain speed through the crowd. Nerves are a force within my stomach. I feel as if my future rests on the tip of a blade. The engagement will be announced today. There will be no going back after Vox is named the wife of the future President. My entire body feels ready to run or to fight. On my back lies a pack with supplies and tickets to free passage back to twelve. Over the last two weeks, I have replayed every single moment between us. I am ready for her answer. I know what she will do and I know what I must do. This is our moment. Vox loves me.

When I am close enough, I scan the stage. Men and women of different sizes gather above us. They all wear trousers, though the women's are much finer and vary in color. I find President Paylor next to a round woman dressed in purple. Behind them stands there son. Three girls around me scream out his name and I manage to hold back a snarl. I see no shock of white hair beside him. Where is she? Minutes pass as Paylor walks up to a boom and begins to speak. As the crowd around me quiets, A flash of white hair bounds up the stairs to the platform. At first, I think it is some other girl, until I spot the slim metal around her wrist.

Vox is dressed in black slacks and a silk midnight blue shirt. Her hair is pulled up in the front and her skin seems to glow beside it. I am struck by how beautiful and fierce she looks as she takes her place beside Paylor. When he slips her hand into his own, I ignore the flame of jealousy. _I will not wait too long this time. _ I wont let her go without a fight.

Paylor ends his speech with applause, introducing a gaggle of entertainers to join the stage. As the officials walk behind the curtain, Vox stops. She turns toward the crowd, scanning for a moment, before her eyes fill mine. I am unable to move as she whispers in Paylor's ear and begins to make her way toward me. I meet her halway, just at the bottom of the stairs. She grabs my hand, leading me to a shaded section beneath them. When she turns and I see her face, I know I have little time. I tug her toward me and kiss her. She responds and I feel all of the tension leave me.

When we break apart she looks angry. Words erupt from the bracelet. "I can't go with you, you know that."

"Why?" I wont let her do this.

"For the same reason I just told Cair, I woulnd't be safe and I'd only be putting you all in danger."

"You saw Cair?"

"It's why I was late. She had my escape all planned out through the tunnels."

Smart. The more I learn of the girl, the more I like her.

"Well, you may be right about putting her in danger. But I can protect us. No one will find us in the woods."

She makes a sound in the back of her throat, clearly not convinced. "Vox. We could run right now. I have two tickets of safe passage to 12 and supplies. I know that forrest better than anyone else in Panem. We can make a home and hunt and be happy." I am putting every belief into my ears as I speak, willing her to understand. "let me take you away."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I have done this Gale. This escape isn't about me. It's about her."

"Her, who?"

"Katniss! I wont be second to her. And you're trying to correct what happened last time. You told me you asked her to run away once."

"Vox," I want to laugh, to tell her she is ridiculous. Instead, I try to find a way to explain, " Katniss are I are nothing."

"She's you're Annie."

I am an idiot. Vox has been torn apart before. Finnick grin flashes in my mind and I wish I had been less civil toward him.

"No," I grab her hand and look at her. I look at her hair and it's sharp contrast with her eyebrows. I think of the way she smiles even though she's lost so much. VOx is strong and caring. She has always seen me. Something Katniss could never do.

"...You are."

She's saved from answering as a figure steps under the stairs. Dax Paylor is glancing back and forth between us. "Everything alright, Vox?" Her eyes never leave mine and I know she feels this too.

The loud tapping of a microphone sounds over the stage as the music above recedes. "Vox, we have to go announce this. Father is waiting."

I see fear and desperation in her gaze. She does not want this. I ignore Dax.

"Please. Don't do this."

Even in the cramped space beneath the stairs, even in front of the man she is about to tie herself to for the rest of her life, Vox gathers my face in her hands. "I can't let some poor girl take my place. I love you." She kisses me swiftly before turning to grab her fiances hand. I am stuck to the spot, fighting within myself as their footsteps sound up the stairs.


	23. What Loves

Dax's hand is tight and foreign in my own. I wipe away the wetness from my cheeks as we stand next to Jack and Hollis, behind President Paylor. Paylor is speaking about the necessity for lasting peace and I am doing all I can to keep my legs from collapsing. The pressure on my hand increases as Dax whispers toward me. "We met him in 12, Hawthorne, right?"

I cannot find myself to apologize for the display I made. It was my only chance at goodbye. I find that I am sorry to have hurt him with the show. Though, part of me is sure I did not. I nod.

"You don't have to do this, you know."

"We're doing a great duty." It's a line he has said repeatedly. I don't really agree but I expect it to quiet him.

It does not.

"Duty is funny thing," he begins. "Sometimes ones greatest duty is to themselves."

"Dax. I'm standing with you. I said goodbye. It's done."

"Love like that doesn't end Vox." Something in his voice is different. I find myself glancing his way. Dax's eyes are on the person slightly to his right; Jack. And all at once, it clicks into place. There is a reason my dresses have had no effect.

"You're right." He turns back toward me. "It doesn't come often. Are you willing to let yours go?" I nod toward the black-haired boy. No wonder he disliked me so much.

"I don't have a choice..."

Something lifts inside me and I am no longer worried about another girl suffering at being his husband. Instead, I am frantic to make this blonde boy, the future president of Panem happy.

"then ,neither do I."

President Paylor is now speaking of the hunger games, the Mockingjay's photo flashes above the screen.

Dax is glaring toward me "You're being unreasonable."

I am happy that he has positioned my arm around his neck. When the vcuff spits out my words they are close to his ear and do not carry.

"Love is love. The people of Panem understand that. You're the one being unreasonable. Give your people a chance.

Just then President Paylor's voice raises higher, calling attention toward the upcoming announcement. I can feel every muscle in my body tense. I am about to marry a man who does not love me, the irony is not lost on me.

"-great pleasure to announ-"

"Wait." Dax has stepped forward and I can feel all the breath leave my body. The president looks confused before smiling and stepping aside. He mumbles something about eagerness to his son. Dax steps up, shoulders square, as silence works across hundreds of people.

"The past few decades have been those of bloodshed, war and famine. With the help of many great men and women, we took back our cities, strengthened our forces and freed ourselves." The crowd roars with applause. "Peace was a slow-growing being and it's had it's falters. With all of our help, we have built this nation into something great, a place where our children are safe. My Father has been instrumental in the creation of our nation and one day, I hope to have a hand in the preservation of this peace." Voices raise up again, many of them female.

"As your future president-"

A hand grabs mine from behind. It hauls me off balance, dragging me behind a row of thick banners. "What are you doing!" Spits out the cuff before I can begin to think.

"I'm not just walking away. You want to marry him, fine. But, I'm staying."

"what?"

"I'll be assigned as a peace-keeper or a guard. I'll wait for you."

Dax is still speaking, his voice echoes through the crowd. "Gale, you won't have to-"

"Just listen-" I hold up a hand the moment I head Dax say love. Gale quiets.

"-brought us together. Love made us stronger and gave us courage. If one were to ask what made this new peace nation capable, I would say love." The crowd is silent as Dax pauses. "It is both my love for my citizens and love of this office that I was willing to give up my own chance at it." Murmurs break through the crowd. I am so entirely focused on the words being said on the other side of this banner that I do not gauge Gale's reaction until a warm body comes behind me. He wraps his arms around me and whispers in my ear, I can feel his smile as he says them, "Marry me."

I lean into him and listen to Dax's words.

"As your future president Panem, I feel I owe it to you, to my family and to myself to be honest, because I truly love you all. I will work every day to keep this peace alive. I will devote my life to this nation. But I will never give it heirs." Everyone gasps. " For the type of love I possess is not capable of producing it." I peek around the banner. Dax Paylor and Jack, his longtime childhood friend stand in front of a crowd of thousands, clasping hands. I am the first to clap. The noise catches on like fire and soon all of panam is cheering, calling out to their future presidents. For as he loves them, they love him back.


	24. What Stays

Gale and I move back to twelve and build a home in the woods near his mothers. It is a small thing, tucked in-between a cluster of trees and hidden by it's dull color. Dax Paylor marries us in a simple ceremony beneath our trees, bathed in a afternoon breeze. The entire village attends. Gale teaches me how to hunt and I teach him how to dance. The Grinds visit and tease us mercily about our secret affair. Gale merely kisses me to which Cair feins jealousy. The rest of our days are spent together. We are careful to draw little attention to ourselves, though taking his name has eliminated much of my own fear of being found. Gale becomes so essential to who I am that sometimes I have episodes of doubt. His arms and the feel of his skin against mine soothe the demons away. He is nothing like the boy from the sea and I am nothing like the girl on fire. And in these moments, we are both happy. We are free.

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><p>END<p>

this story needs some editing but I hope you like it. I'm going to be posting a shorter story about Vox before she became an Avox ( aka Vox + Finnick) soon.


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